On a day full of the north wind,
On such a day,
Let us take hands and stray.
Perhaps we shall find
What it seeks and tries to say.
We have known so much of duty!
Now, perhaps, we shall find her sister,
Wayward and strange, wild Beauty,
Laughing for lone delight
That the sun has kissed her
And clothed her wonderful wings.
I found her once when I strayed:
Down by the sea she played
With onyx pebbles and orange weed,
Having no other need.
But I think if we two found her
She would be in tears:
She would have lost things around her
And love we might have known
In sad young years.
We should hear birds long flown,
Breaking their hearts to charm her alien ears
With ineffectual song,
For she has all for which we dared to long.
But, as you fear, if her indifference
Lend us no clue to guide us hence,
Still shall we find her footprint in the sands
And see where her white hands
Were idle with a flower.
Ever the quest
Was better than soft rest,
The high wind says.
Now is the hour,
Before the wind goes down.
So many roads entreat
From every town,
But let us take no road of yesterday,
For we have what we can never forget.
Tho we guess not the way
Leading to her, the haughty one, we yet
Shall find the scent of hay
The fogs have wet—,
Touch moss and watch weeds sway.
Come, let us go,
And we shall know
The flash of far foam,
And a breath of the wonder of things
From old woods and sweet waters and whisper of wings
That bear the swallow home.
The wind is out of the North:
Let us go forth!