O Wind of God

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O Wind of God

O wind of God, that blowest in the mind,

Blow, blow and wake the gentle spring in me;

Blow, swifter blow, a strong warm summer wind,

Till all the flowers with eyes come out to see;

Blow till the fruit hangs red on every tree,

And our high-soaring song-larks meet thy dove⁠—

High the imperfect soars, descends the perfect love!

Blow not the less though winter cometh then;

Blow, wind of God, blow hither changes keen;

Let the spring creep into the ground again,

The flowers close all their eyes and not be seen:

All lives in thee that ever once hath been!

Blow, fill my upper air with icy storms;

Breathe cold, O wind of God, and kill my cankerworms.