Page:Hand in hand; (IA handinhand00kipl).pdf/23



A WIND harp in a garden all year round, Was fingered by the winds, and each one found Within its silver strings an answering sound.

A wind for Summer, and a wind for Spring; For Autumn, and for Winter,—let them sing Their own songs in the music that they bring.

The soft South wind came like a lover sighing Some low sweet song of love that, never dying, Could still be faithful, though its hope was flying.

The West wind brought a tender, yearning strain, As of a heart that breathed regret and pain For something lost and never found again.

The East wind sobbed, and shrieked, and moaned, and wailed, In tones like those of shipwrecked men who hailed Across the storm some ship that safely sailed,

Unhearing and unheeding; their despair As each one met the death that was his share, Borne on the East wind shuddered on the air.

The North wind blew one sudden furious blast, Like a loud battle call, and hurried past. The harp strings snapt;—that echo was their last.