The Wind.

    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!

Theodore Harding Rand

Theodore Harding Rand was a Canadian educator, poet, and the first chief superintendent of education for New Brunswick, and later Nova Scotia. Born on February 8, 1835, in Carleton County, New Brunswick, Rand had a profound influence on the educational systems in both provinces. He was also a noted poet, contributing significantly to Canadian literature in the 19th century. He passed away on May 29, 1900.

Theodore Harding Rand

The Note Of Nature.

Theodore Harding Rand, Simple Poetry

The Years.

Theodore Harding Rand, Simple Poetry

To Emeline.

Theodore Harding Rand, Simple Poetry

Glory-Roses.

Theodore Harding Rand, Simple Poetry

English

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The Wind.

The ways of the wind are eerie
And I love them all,
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Spring, Winter, and Fall.

When it tells to the waiting crocus
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And hangs on the wayside locust
Bloom-bunches of snow.

When it comes like a balmy blessing
From the musky wood,
The half-grown roses caressing
Till their cheeks show blood.

When it roars in the Autumn season,
And whines with rain
Or sleet like a mind without reason,
Or a soul in pain.

When the wood-ways once so spicy
With bud and bloom
Are desolate, sear, and icy
As the icy tomb.

When the wild owl crouched and frowsy
In the rotten tree
Wails dolorous, cold, and drowsy,
His shuddering melody.

Then I love to sit in Decemb...

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Wind.

Oh! weird West Wind, that comest from the sea,
    Sad with the murmur of the weary waves,
    Wand'ring for ever through old ocean caves,
Why troublest thou the hearts that list to thee,
With echoes of forgotten misery?

The night is black with clouds that thou art bringing
    From the far waters of the stormy main,
    Welling their woes forth wearily in rain,
Betwixt us and the light their dark course winging,
And dreary shadows o'er the spirit flinging.

Whence is thy power to smite the silent heart,
    Till as of old the unseal'd waters run?
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We are all one with Nature--every breeze
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The Wind

Blow harder, wind, and drive
My blood from hands and face back to the heart.
Cry over ridges and down tapering coombs,
Carry the flying dapple of the clouds
Over the grass, over the soft-grained plough,
Stroke with ungentle hand the hill's rough hair
        Against its usual set.
Snatch at the reins in my dead hands and push me
Out of my saddle, blow my labouring pony
Across the track. You only drive my blood
Nearer the heart from face and hands, and plant there,
Slowly burning, unseen, but alive and wonderful,
        A numb, confusèd joy!
This little world's in tumult. Far away
The dim waves rise and wrestle with each other
And fall down headlong on the beach. And here
Quick gusts fly up the funnels of the valleys
And meet their raging fellows on the h...

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Storm.

Out of the grey northwest, where many a day gone by
Ye tugged and howled in your tempestuous grot,
And evermore the huge frost giants lie,
Your wizard guards in vigilance unforgot,
Out of the grey northwest, for now the bonds are riven,
On wide white wings your thongless flight is driven,
That lulls but resteth not.

And all the grey day long, and all the dense wild night
Ye wheel and hurry with the sheeted snow,
By cedared waste and many a pine-dark height,
Across white rivers frozen fast below;
Over the lonely forests, where the flowers yet sleeping
Turn in their narrow beds with dreams of weeping
In some remembered woe;

Across the unfenced wide marsh levels, where the dry
Brown ferns sigh out, and last year's sedges scold
In some drear language, ...

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The Winds

    To me the winds that die and start,
    And strive in wars that never cease,
    Are dearer than the level peace
    That lies unstirred at summer's heart;

    More dear to me the shadowed wold,
    Where, with report of tempest rife,
    The air intensifies with life,
    Than quiet fields of summer's gold.

    I am the winds' admitted friend:
    They seal our linked fellowships
    With speech of warm or icy lips,
    With touch of west and east that blend.

    And when my spirit listless stands,
    With folded wings that do not live,
    Their own assuageless wings they give
    To lift her from the stirless lands.

            *        *        *        *        *

    Within the place unmanifest
    Where centra...

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What The Wind Said

'I muse to-day, in a listless way,
    In the gleam of a summer land;
I close my eyes as a lover may
    At the touch of his sweetheart's hand,
And I hear these things in the whisperings
    Of the zephyrs round me fanned': -

I am the Wind, and I rule mankind,
    And I hold a sovereign reign
Over the lands, as God designed,
    And the waters they contain:
Lo! the bound of the wide world round
    Falleth in my domain!

I was born on a stormy morn
    In a kingdom walled with snow,
Whose crystal cities laugh to scorn
    The proudest the world can show;
And the daylight's glare is frozen there
    In the breath of the blasts that blow.

Life to me was a jubilee
    From the first of my youthful days:
Clinking my icy toys wi...

James Whitcomb Riley