by Robert Laurence Binyon
In the middle of the night, waking, I was aware
Of the Wind like one riding through black wastes of the air,
Moodily riding, ever faster, he recked not where.
The windows rattled aloud: a door clashed and sprang;
And the ear in fear waited to feel the inert clang
Strike the shaken darkness, a cruelty and a pang.
I was hurt with pity of things that have no will of their own,
Lifted in lives of others and cast on bruising stone:
I feared the Wind, coming a power from worlds unknown.
It was like a great ship now, abandoned, her crew dead,
Driving in gulfs of sky; it staggered above and sped;
I lay in the deeps and heard it rushing over my head.
And the helpless shaking of window and door's desolate rebound
Seemed like tossing and lifting of bodies lost and drowned
In the huge indifferent swell, in the waters' wandering sound.
Last updated January 14, 2019