How lonesome the Wind must feel Nights —
When people have put out the Lights
And everything that has an Inn
Closes the shutter and goes in —
How pompous the Wind must feel Noons
Stepping to incorporeal Tunes
Correcting errors of the sky
And clarifying scenery
How...
It is a lonesome Glee —
Yet sanctifies the Mind —
With fair association —
Afar upon the Wind
A Bird to overhear
Delight without a Cause —
Arrestless as invisible —
A matter of the Skies.
The lonesome for they know not What —
The Eastern Exiles — be —
Who strayed beyond the Amber line
Some madder Holiday —
And ever since — the purple Moat
They strive to climb — in vain —
As Birds — that tumble from the clouds
Do fumble at the strain —
The Blessed Ether...