To the Wind.

O thou invisible agent, that dost sweep1
Through the etherial heavens like a god,2
Lashing the seas to fury, rushing o’er3
The crackling forests with destroying speed,4
Suddenly hurling from its craggy height5
The shatter’d pine—quick flying o’er the wastes6
Of arid Libyan sands, of which thou heap’st7
Conglomerated mountains in thy haste,8
And driv’st them scorching o’er the caravan ! —9
O that I had—unseen and mighty power ! —10
Wings like to thine, or even that I might ride11
Upon thy viewless pennons, and escape12
Perhaps to rest ! ——13