AEOLIAN winds sighing into my room
At the edge of the city from the tenuous gloom
Haunted with autumn leaves, where have I heard
Your thin, immortal voice? O' bodiless bird,
Wingless, unseeing, with your ominous songs
Of beauties dead and of undying wrongs
That rise at night and walk in wildernesses
Of stale and senile earth. O' lost caresses
Of gentle hands that have forgotten me!
Where have I heard that voice on land and sea,
On heathered hill and over city gables?
I have heard that voice in the forgotten fables
Of my reading days, and murmuring in the grass,
Clean, long, and coarse, where the low sandhills pass
From cape to cape along the silent bay.
It is the spiritual voice of yesterday.
II
ALL day long, all day long
A warm wind blows, a west wind goes
Around the gaunt, square house.
Across the sky grey clouds lie
All day long, all day long.
The wind blows free in the autumn tree
Bared of leaves, bared of leaves.
Twilight droops, soon, very soon,
On the November afternoon.
The lost wind blows under the eaves
Singing low an old sad song.
The wind blows, the wind goes,
Sighing and singing, low and high,
