Classic Poem

O the wind, the wind, the wind doth blow,
And the world is riper year by year,
And to ebb & flow, & come & go,
Is all that life can fathom clear.
The maids may weep, the mothers wail,
And Beauty wither as she will;
But the ages have one changeless tale,
And the sands slip through, and nought is still.

To conquer earth, and claim the skies
We march at merry morn uncurb'd;
Till the sun last eyes that grassy rise
Where friends & foes sleep undisturb'd.
Sweet phantoms round us throb & glow;
Our fathers knew them every one,
And the wind, the wind, the wind doth blow,
They come to all, they stay with none.