From “Edwin the Fair” THE TALE was this: The wind, when first he rose and went abroad Through the waste region, felt himself at fault, Wanting a voice; and suddenly to earth Descended with a wafture and a swoop, Where, wandering volatile from kind to kind, He wooed the several trees to give him one. First he besought the ash; the voice she lent Fitfully with a free and lasting change Flung here and there its sad uncertainties: The aspen next; a fluttered frivolous twitter Was her sole tribute: from the willow came, So long as dainty summer dressed her out, A whispering sweetness, but her winter note Was hissing, dry, and reedy: lastly the pine Did he solicit, and from her he drew A voice so constant, soft, and lowly deep, That there he rested, welcoming in her A mild memorial of the ocean-cave Where he was born.
The Wind and the Pine-Tree
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