The Rivers of Wind
Seven skeins of silken wind caressed
My skin, which tanned nut brown,
And whispered sylph-like in the reeds,
And swayed the trees which lined the town;
And shifted polished pebbles round,
The river beds of compact sand,
And carried seedlings through the sky,
To rest within my out-cupped hand.
They attend unto the crooked branch,
And pass it by, still loth to break,
Whilst blowing by the window panes,
Of children, shaking them awake;
And after running countless errands,
Through landscapes lush and parchment bare,
They come to dance about my head!
They gently brush my flowing hair!