Of nights when the riven clouds are hurled, And strife and rancour possess the world, I sit alone, with thoughts that are chill, In my grey lodging under the hill. The House of Eld _Now_ the old winds are wild about the house, And the old ghosts cry to me from the air Of a far isle set in the western sea, And of the evening sunlight lingering there. Ah! I am bound here, bound and fettered, The dark house crumbles, and the woods decay, I was too fain of life, that bound me here; Away, old long-loved ghosts, away, away! The South-west Wind _The_ south-west wind has blown his fill, And vanished with departing day: The air is warm, and very still, And soft as silks of far Cathay. This is a night when spirits stray. Their wan limbs bear them where they will; They wring their pallid hands alway, Seeing the lights upon the hill. Schumann: Erstes Verlust _O, dreary_ fall the leaves, The withered leaves; Among the trees Complains the breeze, That still bereaves. All silent lies the mere, The silver mere, In saddest wise Reflecting skies Forlorn and sere. Would autumn had not claimed its own And would the swallows had not flown. Skies overcast! Leaves falling fast! And she has passed And left the woodland strown, The woodland strown, The silver mere, The dying year, And me alone. Skies overcast! Leaves falling fast! Does she that passed Dream of the woodland strown, The woodland strown, The silver mere, The dying year, And me alone? “Dark Boughs against a Golden Sky” _Dark_ boughs against a golden sky, And crying of the winter wind: And sweet it is, for hope is high, And sad it is, for we have sinned. Perfect is nature’s every part In sunny rest, or windy strife: But never yet the perfect heart, And never yet the perfect life! Dark boughs against a golden sky, And crying of the winter wind: And in the cold earth we must lie, What matter then if we have sinned? For evermore and evermore Shall the great river onward roll: And ever winding streams and poor Shall lose them in the mighty whole. “Wind of the Darkness” _Wind_ of the darkness, breathing round us, Wind from the never-resting sea, Lo, you have loosed the cords that bound us, Lo, you have set our spirits free: Free to take wings, like the sea-bird lonely Beating hardily up the wind: Fixed are his eyes on the waters only, Never a glance for the land behind. Wind of the darkness, breathing round us, Wind from the never-resting sea. Was it the old gods’ voice that found us Here, where the bars of prison be? From the far isle that neither knoweth Change of season, nor time’s increase, Where is plenty, and no man soweth: Calling to strife that shall end in peace. Creator Spiritus _The_ wind that scatters dying leaves And whirls them from the autumn tree Is grateful to the ship that cleaves With stately prow the scurrying sea.