Page:Poet Lore, volume 27, 1916.djvu/739

Rh Who now dies anywhere in the world, Without cause dies in the world, Looks at me.

I’m like a silken streamer in solitude flying. I presage the winds that are coming, and share their sighing, While on the earth below there’s nothing stirring; The doors close gently as yet and no fitful gusts in the chimneys; No windows tremble as yet, and from dust the air’s free.

But I feel the coming wind, and am disturbed as the sea. And spread myself out and roll myself to a cone, And flutter and flap and am all alone In the mighty storm.