The Wind

The wind has a language, I would I could learn;

Sometimes 'tis soothing, and sometimes 'tis stern;

Sometimes it comes like a low sweet song,

And all things grow calm, as the sound floats along;

And the forest is lulled by the dreamy strain;

And slumber sinks down on the wandering main;

And its crystal arms are folded in rest,

And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.