by Michael Fairless
Hark how the merry daffodils,
Fling golden music to the hills!
And how the hills send echoing down,
Through wind-swept turf and moorland brown,
The murmurs of a thousand rills
That mock the song-birds’ liquid trills!
The hedge released from Winter’s frown
Shews jewelled branch and willow crown;
While all the earth with pleasure trills,
And ‘dances with the daffodils’.
by Robert Louis Stevenson
I saw you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass,
Like ladies’ skirts across the grass—
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
And in life's noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless love of thee,
The heart's self-solace and soliloquy.
You mould my hopes, you fashion me within ;
And to the leading love-throb in the heart
The wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw [blow];
Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw [snow]:
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae [from] bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.
Heap on more wood! — the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.
Each age has deemed the new born year
The fittest time for festal cheer.
And well our Christian sires of old,
Loved when the year its course had rolled,
And brought blithe Christmas back again,
With all his hospitable train.
Listen Here:
All are not taken; there are left behind
Living Beloveds, tender looks to bring
And make the daylight still a happy thing,
And tender voices, to make soft the wind:
Listen Here: