Analysis of The Wind
Mathilde Blind 1841 (Mannheim) – 1896 (London)
ACROSS the barren moors the wild, wild wind
Went sweeping on, and with his sobs and shrieks
Filled the still night, and tore the woof of clouds
Through which the moon did shed her cold clear light.
From age to age a houseless wanderer he--
Neither of heaven, nor yet of earth, but doomed
For evermore to waver 'twixt the two:--
Begging the moon with moans to take him up
Into her charmèd calm; now with a wail,
Piteous and low, beseeching that the earth
Might fold him to her bosom, but in vain!
A lonely outcast, frenzied does he storm
Wildly from land to land, from sea to sea,
Driving the clouds before him, ploughing up
The shaking sod, splitting the tow'ring masts,
And laying low the oaks of thousand years.
But I that night ne'er closed an eye in sleep,
For I did see him wand'ring o'er the moor--
A giant phantom lost in midnight gloom,
Flitting a restless shadow 'twixt the earth
And round orbed moon; loose tattered folds of clouds,
Ragged with ages, swept behind, as he
With Titan strides did bridge the rocky chasms;
Oh how he sobbed and shrieked, and howled and roared,
Torn with eternal hunger after home.
So roars the lion from Numidian peaks,
Swaying his manèd head from side to side,
As low, then loud and louder swell his tones,
Till big with horror thro' the forest lone
They roll towards the plain, curdling the blood
Of flocks and herds returning to the fold.
So howls the famished wolf across the waste
Siberian snows, with glare of restless eyes,
Making a hideous brilliance in the dark.
Now worn away, the wild wind's voice would die
Fainting with its excess; then draw a sigh--
Sounding far off, and then a soughing wail,
A roar, a shriek, to pierce the ears of night;
So on and on, through all the livelong night;
And all the livelong night I tossed about;
His stormy voice, it would not let me rest,
But woke an echo in me, rolling on
Over my boundless waste of soul, till all
The weary longings and the phantoms wild,
The cravings with their thirst unquenchable,
The doubts--dark looming in the nether mists,
Rose up in tumult, shrieking with one voice:
'Is there no goal? shall we for aye and aye
Be hurried restlessly through endless space?
Oh has the storm no nest? the soul no home?
And the foundation stone of all my being
Shook, and a flood, brackish with tears unshed,
Surged o'er and o'er me.--Tortured I arose,
Went to the open casement, and looked out.--
There was a lull.--Upon the gravelled talks
And smooth-cut sward, patches of moonlight lay;
The clouds were swept away; and sharp and clear
The trees did cast their shadows on the ground.
Weird-like and moonlit the wan brood of night
Did flit adown the ridges of the moors,
Up from the river, and from out the trees,
Gliding with noiseless movements in and out
The pale moonlight, making my flesh to creep;
And sick with fear I turned me to my rest--
But not to sleep, for he on dewèd wings
Had shyly fled before the moaning wind,
Who now arose again in all his strength,
And tore along, blasting the peace of night;
And the old clock did toll the weary hours,
As one by one night dropped them from her lap,
And weary, wearily I counted them,
With burning eyes and with a burning brain.
But, lo!
What golden touch falls on the curtain now?
Up from my bed I spring--I look, I see
A trembling light gleam faintly in the east,
A trembling light, while all around is dark;
It grows, it deepens into liquid gold
And glowing orange and vermilion bright;
It spreads along in billowy ripples, like
A glittering ocean when the tide rolls in.
Smiling, it greets the mist-enshrouded earth,
And draws her up with hill and tree and field,
Driving the host of pris'ning fogs to flight,
That brooding vengeance fly behind the hills,
And gath'ring force from night, swoop in one mass
Of densest black across the swooning earth.
Trees weep, and long drawn sighs float here and there;
Have shadows then wiped out the golden light?
See! see! the strangling cloud
Sinks back; pierced by the arrow of the dawn,
Her blood--it trickles on the grass, and all
The vague wan children of the night, they fly
In dire confusion westward. . . . Hark! oh hark!
The lovely morn now blows his silver horn,
And like a lavish prodigal he strews
Red roses, thick as sands on amber shores
Along heaven's eastern floor: for now the sun,
The radiant conqueror of the night, steps forth
Upon the gorgeous path, with dazzling shield,
Greeted by pealing chants as he begins
His grand triumphal march: hills, vales, and streams,
Laugh
Scheme | Text too long |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 0101010111 1101011101 1011010111 1101110111 1111011001 10110111111 110110101 1001111111 0101111101 101010101 1111010101 010110111 1011111111 100101111 0101100111 0101011101 1111111101 11111111001 010101011 100101101 0111110111 1011010111 1101110101 1111010101 1101010101 11010111 1011111111 1111010111 1111010101 110101101 1101010101 1101010101 01001111101 10010010001 1101011111 101111101 101101011 0101110111 110111011 010111101 1101111111 1111001101 1011011111 0101000101 0101111 0111000101 1101010111 1111111101 1101001101 1101110111 00010111110 100110111 110010110101 110101011 110101011 011110111 0101010101 011111101 110101111 111010101 1101001101 101110001 011101111 0111111111 1111111111 1101010101 1101010111 0101100111 00111101010 1111111101 0101001101 1101010101 11 1101110101 1111111111 01001110001 01001110111 1111001101 0101000101 110101101 01001010110 1011010101 0101110101 1001111111 1101010101 0111111011 1101010101 1101111101 111110101 1101001 1111010101 0111010101 0111010111 0101010111 0101111101 0101010011 1101111101 01101011101 010010010111 01010111001 101111101 1101011101 1 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 4,391 |
Words | 816 |
Sentences | 29 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 103 |
Lines Amount | 103 |
Letters per line (avg) | 34 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 3,496 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 815 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 4:08 min read
- 100 Views
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"The Wind" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/27109/the-wind>.
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