The night is light and chill, Stars are awake in the sky, There's a cloud over the moon; Round the house on the hill The wind creeps with its cry Between a wail and a croon. I hear the voice of the wind, The voice of the wind in the night, Cry and sob and weep, As the voice of one that hath sinned Moaning aloud in its might In the night when he cannot sleep. Sleep! No sleep is about. What remembering sin Wakes and watches apart? The wind wails without, And my heart is wailing within, And the wind is the voice of my heart.
As a lover of both "free verse" and form, I love the rhyme structure of this poem. It is such a delate balance of sound art and content with no sacrifice. It allows for the last line:
"And my heart is wailing within,
And the wind is the voice of my heart."
...to be just irrefutably true.
Serendipitous to read this after arising from an unsettled sleep. We have a gale force Nor Wester this early morning. The wind has blown over rubbish bins in the night, recycling tumbles down the street. My jandals have blown to the other end of the garden from their neat and tidy position at the front door. I am watching birds losing their footing/winging as they try and find a straight flying course amongst the gusts.
I realised I myself was blowing against the cacophony and chaos, until I read this poem.
"The wind wails without,
And my heart is wailing within,
And the wind is the voice of my heart."
All is still now within and I can continue with my morning ritual. 😊
The healing power of poetry. 🙏