And It Was Windy Weather

Now the winds are riding by;

Clouds are galloping the sky;

Bush and tree are lashing bare,

Savage boughs on savage air;

Crying, as they lash and sway,

— Pull the roots out of the clay!

Lift away: away:


Leave security, and speed

From the root, the mud, the mead!

Into sea and air, we go!

To chase the gull, the moon! — and know

— Flying high!

Flying high! —

All the freedom of the sky!

All the freedom of the sky!

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