Poems (Mansfield)/Spring Wind in London

by Katherine Mansfield

SPRING WIND IN LONDON

I blow across the stagnant world,
I blow across the sea,
For me, the sailor's flag unfurled,
For me, the uprooted tree.
My challenge to the world is hurled;
The world must bow to me.

I drive the clouds across the sky,
I huddle them like sheep;
Merciless shepherd-dog am I
And shepherd-watch I keep.
If in the quiet vales they lie
I blow them up the steep.

Lo! In the tree-tops do I hide,
In every living thing;
On the moon's yellow wings I glide,
On the wild rose I swing;
On the sea-horse's back I ride,
And what then do I bring?

And when a little child is ill
I pause, and with my hand
I wave the window curtain's frill
That he may understand
Outside the wind is blowing still.
. . . It is a pleasant land.

O stranger in a foreign place,
See what I bring to you.
This rain—is tears upon your face;
I tell you—tell you true
I came from that forgotten place
Where once the wattle grew.

All the wild sweetness of the flower
Tangled against the wall.
It was that magic, silent hour. . . .
The branches grew so tall
They twined themselves into a bower.
The sun shone. . . and the fall

Of yellow blossom on the grass!
You feel that golden rain?
Both of you could not hold, alas,
(Both of you tried—in vain)
A memory, stranger. So I pass. . . .
It will not come again. 1909.