Poems by John B. Tabb :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE WIND.

A gentle sigh of half regret
Thou breathest o'er me now,
Scarce wakening the leafy shade
That trembles on my brow;
And yet of direful visitants
The sternest thou.

Controlling all, of none controlled,
O'er earth, and sky, and sea,
Where'er thou listest, wandering,
A scourge or balm to be,
Thou bendest all to reverence
Thy majesty.

Thou scatterest the fleecy clouds,
And herdest them again,
To pour upon the harvest lands
The bounty of the rain;
Then winnowest, with lusty flail
The ripened grain.

In lordly blessings lordliest,
In malediction worst,
Thou fannest from a shadeless wing,
On multitudes accurst,
Wan famine, reeking pestilence,
And scarlet thirst.

The anger of the storm is thine,
The terror of the wave,
Old ocean, in thy foamy wrath
Howls, smitten as a slave,
Or, at thy whisperings of calm,
Forgets to rave.

We see thee not, though everywhere
Thou compassest the eye:
Thyself, in silence mystical,
The subtle harmony
Of Nature's tuneful choir divine
Dost all supply.

Mute spirit, if thy pinions waft,
Unbidden, o'er my soul,
The thoughts that as a tide of dreams
Involuntary roll,
Be thine the gift of utterance,—
My tongue control!