Any wind but this--
That with remembrance of rain
Grown soft and pitiful, embraced me
As I walked homeward.
And any other look
Than the full-moon sheds to-night--
As though she bent like a mother
Above her sleeping children.
Not to be denied
The wind gropes over the house;
And now it has brushed aside the curtains
And walks about the room.
Too well, too well I know
Whence you have journeyed, O Wind!
And what the landscape of nestling hill and valley
That the moon eyes so lovingly.