The Night-Wind

I have heard the wind on a winter's night, When the snow-cold moon looked icily through My window's flickering firelight, Where the frost his witchery drew: I have heard the wind on a winter's night, Wandering ways that were frozen white, Wail in my chimney-flue: And its voice was the voice, so it seemed to me, The voice of the world's vast misery. II. I have heard the wind on a night of spring, When the leaves unclasped their girdles of gold, And the bird on the bough sang slumbering, In the lilac's fragrant fold: I have heard the wind on a night of spring, Shaking the musk from its dewy wing, Sigh in my garden old: And it seemed that it said, as it sighed above, 'I am the voice of the Earth's great love.' III. I have heard the wind on a night of fall, When a devil's-dance was the rain's down pour, And the wild woods reeled to its demon call, And the carpet fluttered the floor: I have heard the wind on a night of fall, Heaping the leaves by the garden wall, Weep at my close-shut door: And its voice, so it seemed, as it sorrowed there, Was the old, old voice of the world's despair. IV. I have heard the wind on a summer night, When the myriad stars stormed heaven with fire, And the moon-moth glimmered in phantom flight, And the crickets creaked in choir: I have heard the wind on a summer night, Rocking the red rose and the white, Murmur in bloom and brier: And its voice was the voice, so it seemed to me, Of Earth's primordial mystery.