Wind-Magic

The wind sweeps over the corn,
The wind sweeps over my heart,
It lifts me up and it blows
My soul and body apart;

And I run, I run by its side
In bodiless liberty—
I touch the tops of the trees,
And dapple and darken the sea;

I rush through populous streets,
I eddy through glade and glen—
And now the wind dies down,
And I am my body again.
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