Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life Connecticut River reeds blown by the "Peasant Bard" |
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WIND OF THE WINTER NIGHT. |
 | Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life |  |
WIND OF THE WINTER NIGHT.
Wind of the winter night! I hear
Thy midnight voice, weird, wild, and drear,
Sad, solemn, slow;
Hear it without my window pane
Sound, in the soul-arousing strain,
The voice of long ago.
Thy midnight voice, weird, wild, and drear,
Sad, solemn, slow;
Hear it without my window pane
Sound, in the soul-arousing strain,
The voice of long ago.
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That hollow, voiceful spirit tone,
An instant heard, then vanished, gone,
Unlocks the past;
And lights of other days that lie
Deep in the mists of memory,
Flash bright and fast!
An instant heard, then vanished, gone,
Unlocks the past;
And lights of other days that lie
Deep in the mists of memory,
Flash bright and fast!
Some vivid scene of long ago,
Of life's first fires, or love's soft glow,
Buried for years
In ashes of the past from sight,
Wakes, at the tone, again to light,
And reappears.
Of life's first fires, or love's soft glow,
Buried for years
In ashes of the past from sight,
Wakes, at the tone, again to light,
And reappears.
The form, the words of some loved one
Once by my side, now parted, gone
To realms unseen;
Or, haply, separated wide
By weary leagues of land and tide;
And years between.
Once by my side, now parted, gone
To realms unseen;
Or, haply, separated wide
By weary leagues of land and tide;
And years between.
O memory sad! O memory sweet!
How often, thus evoked, I meet
Again my lost!
My arms are outstretched to embrace,
But heart to heart, and face to face
Is but the ghost.
How often, thus evoked, I meet
Again my lost!
My arms are outstretched to embrace,
But heart to heart, and face to face
Is but the ghost.
Mysterious life! How little we
Know what we are, or what shall be
When “dust to dust”;
But that dread Power that formed the soul
Is wise to order and control;
There rest, and trust.
Know what we are, or what shall be
When “dust to dust”;
But that dread Power that formed the soul
Is wise to order and control;
There rest, and trust.
| Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life | |