Sunday, November 25, 2012

In the Hand of the Wind /
Theodore Goodridge Roberts

In the Hand of the Wind

          “Lord, I am passing in the hand of the wind.”

Lord, I am passing in the wind’s lean hand:
    And now, of all my glory what will stand? –
The echo of a love song, like thin smoke
    Blown down the valleys of a kindly land.          

O green walled gardens, I have loved you so!
    Take no heed of the passing when I go.
The wind that spilled your roses yesterday
    Blows sharp upon me, heralding the snow:          

The wind that blew the yellow buds to bloom,                
    And filled with dancing gold our vine-girt room        
Where I have sung of summer and delight,
    Sings now of silence and the roses’ doom:          

The wind that kissed us yesterday, to-day
    Blows sharp upon me with a breath of clay,          
Blows cold across the vineyards in the sun
    And stills the flutter of the leaves at play.          

Lord, I am passing in the wind’s lean hand!
    And now of all my glory, what will stand?
A whisper in the vines along the wall,                
    As of a lost song in a haunted land.

Theodore Goodridge Roberts (1877-1953), 1902
from The Leather Bottle, 1934

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Theodore Goodridge Roberts biography

No comments:

Post a Comment