blew

I walked alone and thinking,

And faint the nightwind blew

And stirred on mounds at crossways

There, like the wind through woods in riot,

Through him the gale of life blew high;

The tree of man was never quiet:

Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew,

The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew;

Then in a bodkin graced her mother's hairs,

She was naked and cold,

For that day the wind blew

Without sunshine.

Asphodels, in my dreams, for you.

So I rushed out to see what flowers blew

Their pink-and-purple-scented souls

A great, round moon rose over a hill

And the steady wind blew yet more cool;

And crouched on a stone a wayfarer sobbed,

But always thickly dark. Then as he leaned

Unconscious where, the great oak door blew back

And cast him, bruised and dripping, in the church.

The prophet saw such clothed with flesh and skin

A wind blew on them and life entered in;

They shook and rose.