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MARCH WINDS
MARCH WINDS
Winds go streaming, shouting loud,
At their play around the sky,
And my soul is like a cloud
Blown about with them on high.
Like a hawk unhooded, she
From my body broke away,
Longing for the company
Of the winds at holiday.
So she scours the skiey plain,
Wheeling, dipping in the blue—
Hawk-soul, cloud-soul, turn again!
What's the lure to use for you?
Cairo.
46
