The Wind's Song

[THE WIND'S SONG] [SONNET 3] by EDWARD THOMAS

Dull-thoughted, walking among the nunneries Of many a myriad anemones In the close copses, I grew weary of Spring Till I emerged and in my wandering I climbed the down up to a lone pine clump Of six, the tallest dead, one a mere stump. On one long stem, branchless and flayed and prone, I sat in the sun listening to the wind alone, Thinking there could be no old song so sad As the wind's song; but later none so glad Could I remember as that same wind's song All the time blowing the pine boughs among. My heart that had been still as the dead tree Awakened by the West wind was made free.