1 min read
Слушать(AI)The Message Of The Wind
The wind comes riding down from heaven.
Ho! wind of heaven, what do you bring?
Cool for the dawn, dew for the even,
And every sweetest thing.
O wind of heaven, from pink clouds driven,
What do you bring to me?
The low call of thy love who waits Under the willow tree,
Whose boat upon the water waits For me, for thee.
Harriet Monroe
Harriet Monroe (December 23, 1860 – September 26, 1936) was an American editor, scholar, literary critic, poet, and patron of the arts. She was
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
The Water Ouzel
Little brown surf-bather of the mountains Spirit of foam, lover of cataracts, shaking your wings in falling waters Have you no fear of the roar and rush when Nevada plunges — Nevada, the shapely dancer, feeling her way with slim white fi...
The Tower
He built a tower for all to see, With sun-washed gardens planted wide And there with pomp of pageantry, With men-at-arms and minstrelsy And moonbeam ladies fair and free,
Washington
Oh, hero of our younger race Great builder of a temple new Ruler, who sought no lordly place Warrior who sheathed the sword he drew
The Childless Woman
O Mother of that heap of clay, so passive on your breast, Now do you stare at death, woman, who yesterday were blest Now do you long to fare afar, and guide him on the Where he must wander all alone, his little feet astray