Classic Poem

My song! It is time!
Wider! Bolder! Spread the arms!
Have done with finger pointing.
Open windows even for the cold
To come whistling in blowing the curtains:
We have looked out through glass
Long enough, my song.

Now, knowing the wind's knack,
We can make little of daring:
Has not laughter in the house corners
Spoken of it—the blind horse:
Has not every chink whispered
How she rides biting its ears,
How she drives it in secret?

Therefore my song—bolder!
Let in the wind! Open the windows!
Embrace the companion
That is whistling, waiting
Impatiently to receive us!