The Wind

The Wind


I am a pipe the wind blows through,

Be still, it is the wind that sings.

The course of my life and the things that I do

And the seeming false and the seeming true

Are the tune of the wind that neither knows

Good and ill, nor joys and woes.

But the ultimate awe is deeper yet

Than song or pipe or storm;

For pipe and tune are the formless wind

That seemed for a while to take form.

And words are good to escape from words

And strife to escape from strife,

But silence drinks in all the waves

Of song and death and life.



Arthur Osborne