Sagas of Vaster Britain: Poems of the Race, the Empire and the Divinity of Man

by William Wilfred Campbell




I AM Wind, the deathless dreamer
    Of the summer world;
Tranced in snows of shade and shimmer,
    On a cloud-scarp curled:

Fluting through the argent shadow

    And the molten shine
Of the golden, lonesome summer
    And its dreams divine.

All unseen I walk the meadows,
    Or I wake the wheat,

Speeding o’er the tawny billows
    With my phantom feet.

All the world’s face, hushed and sober,
    Wrinkles where I run;
Turning sunshine into shadow,

    Shadow into sun.

Stirring soft the breast of waters
    With my winnowing wings,
Waking the grey ancient wood
    From hushed imaginings.


Where the blossoms drowse in languors,
    Or a vagrant sips,
Lifting nodding blade or petal
    To my cooling lips;

Far from gloom of shadowed mountain,

    Surge of sounding sea,
Bud and blossom, leaf and tendril,
    All are glad of me.

Loosed in sunny deeps of heaven,
    Like a dream I go,

Guiding light my genie-driven
    Flocks, in herds of snow;—

Ere I moor them o’er the thirsting
    Woods and fields beneath,
Dumbly yearning, from their burning

    Dream of parchèd death.

Not a sorrow do I borrow
    From the golden day;
Not a shadow holds the meadow
    Where my footsteps stray;


Light and cool, my kiss is welcome
    Under sun and moon,
To the weary vagrant wending
    Under parchèd noon;

To the languid, nodding blossom

    In its moonlit dell,
All earth’s children, sad and yearning,
    Know and love me well.

Without passion, without sorrow,
    Driven in my dream

Through the season’s trance of sleeping
    Cloud and field and stream;

Haunting woodlands, lakes, and forests,
    Seas and clouds impearled,
I am Wind, the deathless dreamer

    Of the summer world.