Classic Poem

They that have gone by forest paths shall hear
The outcry of worn reeds and leaves long shed,
The rise and sound of waters. Overhead,
Out of the wide northwest, wind-stripped and clear,
Like some great army dense with battle gear,
All day the columned clouds come marching on,
Long hastening lines in sombre unison,
Vanguard, and centre, and still deepening rear;
While from the waste beyond the barren verge
Drives the great wind with hoof and thong set free,
And buffets and wields high its whistling scourge
Around the roofs, or in tempestuous glee,
Over the far-off woods with tramp and surge,
Huge and deep-tongued, goes roaring like the sea.