Song of the wind (Gertrude Hine)
- Editor: James Gibb (submitted 2020-06-18). Score information: A4, 10 pages, 148 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes:
Original text and translations
I whisper among the feathery grass,
And dimple the rivulet as I pass,
In the flower-starred field, on the sunlit hill, In the
flow'rstarr'd field, on the sunlit hill,
Fetterless, joyful, I roam at my will.
And oft in a headlong, hurrying chase,
I drive the clouds thro' the azure space;
Then dropping I laugh in gathered sheaves,
Or whirl in a dance with the fallen leaves.
O'er the deep, deep ocean, a master am I,
As I mockingly hurl his waves on high,
And the foundering ships on the rocks I break;
Then turning I laugh at the havoc I make.
Thro' the churchyard in silence I wonderingly pass,
And scarce care to linger and play with the grass;
But I drop as I sobbingly hold in my breath,
And for once am subdued in the presence of death.
I tremblingly whisper around the old church
And wail in the ivy leaves over the porch;
Then entering softly I hush to a sigh,
For a spirit is there, who is greater than I.