"O Prophet Wind, thou tellest of the rain,
"While, jacinth blue, the broad sky folds calm palms,
"Unwitting of all storm, high o'er the land!
"The little grasses and the ruddy heath
"Know of the coming rain; but towards the sun
"The eagle lifts his eyes, and with his wings
"Beats on a sunlight that is never marr'd
"By cloud or mist, shrieks his fierce joy to air
"Ne'er stir'd by stormy pulse."
"The eagle mine," I said: "O I would ride
"His wings like Ganymede, nor ever care
"To drop upon the stormy earth again,--
"But circle star-ward, narrowing my gyres,
"To some great planet of eternal peace.".
"Nay," said my wise, young love, "the eagle falls
"Back to his cliff, swift as a thunder-bolt;
"For there his mate and naked eaglets dwell,
"And there he rends the dove, and joys in all
"The fierce delights of his tempestuous home.
"And tho' the stormy Earth throbs thro' her poles--
"With tempests rocks upon her circling path--
"And bleak, black clouds snatch at her purple hills--
"While mate and eaglets shriek upon the rock--
"The eagle leaves the hylas to its calm,
"Beats the wild storm apart that rings the earth,
"And seeks his eyrie on the wind-dash'd cliff.
"O Prophet Wind! close, close the storm and rain!"
Long sway'd the grasses like a rolling wave
Above an undertow--the mastiff cried;
Low swept the poplars, groaning in their hearts;
And iron-footed stood the gnarl'd oaks,
And brac'd their woody thews against the storm.
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