Verse > Anthologies > > Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. > The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse
Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp.  The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse.  1922.
The Wind
By Harold Monro (1879–1932)
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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