And yet I did not go out, but stood hesitating at the window, while with every gust earth seemed to fling back its curls of rain from its shining forehead.

There was a gust fiercer than usual, accompanied by a crack like the sound of a pistol, followed by a stifled shout.

Not tricked and frounced as she was wont With the Attic Boy to hunt, But kerchiefed in a comely cloud While rocking winds are piping loud, Or ushered with a shower still, When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute drops from off the eaves.

And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly.

All sad thoughts were whisked from her mind as a gust whirls dead leaves away and shows the green grass beneath, newly growing.

In fields of light, I ride, I ride, Upon the gust-winds back,