 | The poet, the fool and the faeries |  |
X
The Wind from the Sea
Mother of storm, all night it wailed and weptOutside the window; or, with wrath and roar,
Beat with wild hands of terror at the door,
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And from the sea a moaning answer swept,
As if the ghosts of all the dead it bore
Cried out in lamentation to the shore,
That with its crags and pines grim council kept.
But with the coming of the rose of dawn
Its clamor ceased; and, mid the flowers and trees,
It sighing went; or, leaning, soft of tone
Whispered of beauty, till the soul was drawn,
As by a ghost in drowsy draperies,
Back, back to memories of the long-agone.
| The poet, the fool and the faeries | |