The wind, my friends, speaks to me In sibilant whispers or in gusts, Or a furnace from eternity, In all its moods, its vehement lusts It comes a zephyr or a storm Pelting the garden with its hail, In springtime keeps the body warm Or slashing like a banshee's wail Scythes the flowers in summer dress Then brings to earth the gentle rain Or violently brings to us distress, Then laughing soothes us once again.
Poems Undated (1727)
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