Daily Whitman


To the Sun-Set Breeze

Ah, whispering, something again, unseen,
  Where late this heated day thou enterest at my window, door,
  Thou, laving, tempering all, cool-freshing, gently vitalizing
  Me, old, alone, sick, weak-down, melted-worn with sweat;
  Thou, nestling, folding close and firm yet soft, companion better
      than talk, book, art,
  (Thou hast, O Nature! elements! utterance to my heart beyond the
      rest—and this is of them,)
  So sweet thy primitive taste to breathe within—thy soothing fingers
      my face and hands,
  Thou, messenger—magical strange bringer to body and spirit of me,
  (Distances balk'd—occult medicines penetrating me from head to foot,)
  I feel the sky, the prairies vast—I feel the mighty northern lakes,
  I feel the ocean and the forest—somehow I feel the globe itself
      swift-swimming in space;
  Thou blown from lips so loved, now gone—haply from endless store,
  (For thou art spiritual, Godly, most of all known to my sense,)
  Minister to speak to me, here and now, what word has never told, and
      cannot tell,
  Art thou not universal concrete's distillation? Law's, all
      Astronomy's last refinement?
  Hast thou no soul? Can I not know, identify thee?

Posted on 18/02/2017, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: