In the Hand of the Wind
“Lord, I am passing in the hand of the wind.”
Lord, I am passing in the wind’s lean hand:
And now, of all my glory what will stand? –
The echo of a love song, like thin smoke
Blown down the valleys of a kindly land.
O green walled gardens, I have loved you so!
Take no heed of the passing when I go.
The wind that spilled your roses yesterday
Blows sharp upon me, heralding the snow:
The wind that blew the yellow buds to bloom,
And filled with dancing gold our vine-girt room
Where I have sung of summer and delight,
Sings now of silence and the roses’ doom:
The wind that kissed us yesterday, to-day
Blows sharp upon me with a breath of clay,
Blows cold across the vineyards in the sun
And stills the flutter of the leaves at play.
Lord, I am passing in the wind’s lean hand!
And now of all my glory, what will stand?
A whisper in the vines along the wall,
As of a lost song in a haunted land.
Theodore Goodridge Roberts (1877-1953), 1902
from The Leather Bottle, 1934
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]
Theodore Goodridge Roberts biography