The lithe wind races and sings
Over the grasses and wheat
See the emerald floor as it springs
To the touch of invisible
feet!
Ah, later, the fir and the pine
Shall stoop to its weightier
tread,
As it tramps the thundering brine
Till it shudders and whitens
in dread!
Breath of man! a glass of thine own
Is the wind on the land, on
the sea
Joy of life at thy touch! full
grown,
Destruction and death maybe!