So when storms of wild emotion Of the poet's soul, ere long Floats some fragments of a song: From the far-off isles enchanted, With the golden fruit of truth, In the tropic clime of youth; From the strong Will, and the Endeavor Wrestles with the tides of Fate; From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered, Floating waste and desolate ; Ever drifting, drifting, drifting Currents of the restless heart; II-THE WINDS. YE winds, ye unseen currents of the air, W. C. BRYANT. Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the hair Slight blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow. |