The Wind’s Summons

Source: Graham R. Tomson, Atlantic Monthly, April 1892, without the sixth stanza.

The Wind came whining to my door,

Across the uplands from the sea,

With plaintive burden o’er and o’er,

“Oh, will ye roam the world with me?”

The wintry skies were all too chill,

The wintry lands too stark and gray:

I would not do the wild Wind’s will;

I barred the door and said him nay.

But when the Night crept, vast and black,

Up the long valleys from the sea,

The cold Wind followed in his track,

And swift and stealthy followed he.

The mad Wind clamoured at my door;

His voice was like the angry sea

That breaks in thunder on the shore,

And still he cried, “Come forth to me!”

The casements shook and shuddered sore,

He ranged the high walls round and round;

My chamber rocked from roof to floor,

And all the darkness throbbed with sound.

...

Sullen and slow the Sea-Wind sped;

“Oh, never doubt the day shall be

When I shall come again,” he said,

“And you come forth and follow me.

“The lair of Night shall be your bed,

And fast and far your ghost shall flee,

When you are one with all the Dead

That roam the wide world round with me.”

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