In the Hand of the Wind

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Lord, I am passing in the wind's lean hand: And now, of all my glory what will stand?--The echo of a love song, like thin smoke Blown down the valleys of a kindly land.

O green walled gardens, I have loved you so! Take no heed of the passing when I go.The wind that spilled your roses yesterday Blows sharp upon me, heralding the snow:

The wind that blew the yellow buds to bloom, And filled with dancing gold our vine-girt roomWhen I have sung of summer and delight, Sings now of silence and the roses' doom:

The wind that kissed us yesterday, to-day Blows sharp upon me with a breath of clay,Blows cold across the vineyards in the sun And stills the flutter of the leaves at play.

Lord, I am passing in the wind's lean hand! And now of all my glory, what will stand?A whisper in the vines along the wall, As of a lost song in a haunted land.

© Roberts Theodore Goodridge