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| SO wayward is the wind to-night | |
| ’Twill send the planets tumbling down; | |
| And all the waving trees are dight | |
| In gauzes wafted from the moon. | |
| |
| Faint streaky wisps of roaming cloud | 5 |
| Are swiftly from the mountains swirl’d; | |
| The wind is like a floating shroud | |
| Wound light about the shivering world. | |
| |
| I think I see a little star | |
| Entangled in a knotty tree, | 10 |
| As trembling fishes captured are | |
| In nets from the eternal sea. | |
| |
| There seems a bevy in the air | |
| Of spirits from the sparkling skies: | |
| There seems a maiden with her hair | 15 |
| All tumbled in my blinded eyes. | |
| |
| O, how they whisper, how conspire, | |
| And shrill to one another call! | |
| I fear that, if they cannot tire, | |
| The moon, her shining self, will fall. | 20 |
| |
| Blow! Scatter even if you will | |
| Like spray the stars about mine eyes! | |
| Wind, overturn the goblet, spill | |
| On me the everlasting skies! | |
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