Ebony and Crystal/The Sorrow of the Winds
THE SORROW OF THE WINDS
O winds that pass uncomfortedThrough all the peacefulness of spring,And tell the trees your sorrowing,That they must mourn till ye are fled!
Think ye the Tyrian distance holdsThe crystal of unquestioned sleep?That those forgetful purples keepNo veiled, contentious greens and golds?
Half with communicated grief,Half that they are not free to passWith you across the flickering grass,Mourns each inclinèd bough and leaf.
And I, with soul disquieted,Shall find within the haunted springNo peace, till your strange sorrowingIs down the Tyrian distance fled.