Classic Poem

What will you find
In the depths of the wind,
What does it hold?
Fold on fold on flowing fold —
Clasp it, and your fingers press
Only a soft emptiness;
Only air is in your hand.
Yet this nothing may command
The purposes of men and seas,
Ordering them with a mighty ease;
With that same, that ancient power
That was born in time's first hour,
In the beginning of change and days.
But never its strength delays,
Or grows old, or will weary or rest;
Nor the years diminish its wild invisible zest.