The Meeting Of The Winds

By William Francis Barnard

The Northwind met with the Southwind
On the wide ways of the sky,
And the air turned frost as the clouds were tossed
To in confusion lie;
For the Northwind raged at the Southwind
To buffet her where she flew,
But the Southwind smiled like one beguiled
As her flower-sweet breath she blew.
The Northwind turned to the Southwind,
And saw her that she was fair;
With laugh of delight, with eyes of night,
And back-blown sun-bronzed hair.
And the Southwind knew him, the Northwind,
And saw him that he was strong;
With face to command, and a mighty hand
To whip his gusts along.
The Southwind sang to the Northwind,
“I am warmer than love, or fire,
And I know thy goal is the Southern Pole,
But thou art my heart’s desire”;
And the Northwind answered the Southwind,
“Wanderer, wait with me then:
Thy singing is sweet; ’tis well that we meet:
Make me thy music again.”
The Southwind kissed to the Northwind,
And the Northwind clasped her hands;
While the wrath was hushed of the gales that rushed
Full wild o’er the seas and lands.
And there, twixt the earth and heavens,
At twilight or at morn,
Midst waitings from flowers in far-off bowers,
The delicate Spring was born.

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