Page:Poems, Meynell, 1921.djvu/87

 WEST WIND IN WINTER

NOTHER day awakes. And who—

Changing the world—is this?

He comes at whiles, the winter through

West Wind! I would not miss

His sudden tryst: the long, the new

Surprises of his kiss.

Vigilant, I make haste to close

With him who comes my way.

I go to meet him as he goes;

I know his note, his lay,

His colour and his morning-rose,

And I confess his day.

My window waits; at dawn I hark

His call; at morn I meet

His haste around the tossing park

And down the softened street;

The gentler light is his; the dark,

The grey—he turns it sweet.

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