SPEEDING across blank, lonely wastes of snow
From your pale palace, reared with wild device
In a strange, shadowy land of Arctic ice,
O north wind, bitter north wind, whither do you blow?
“ Southward, to find my tender, languid love,
Who drowses in a clime of tropic haze,
Where, through the heavy-odored, silent nights,
Great mellow, fervid stars beam out above,
And where one sees, through sultry, golden days,
The mighty Indian temples rear proud heights,
And the rich-crested palm her green plume raise!
And I, the spirit strong to wreck and kill,
I, the stern north wind, terrible to chill,
When her warm kisses through my cold lips thrill,
I have no will that is not her sweet will!”


Bearing to lavish leaves your cadence low,
From far-off, indolent lands of bloomful ease,
Of gaudy birds and iridescent seas,
O south wind, fragrant south wind, whither do you blow?
“ Northward, to find my cruel, white-limbed love,
Who dwells where all strange polar glories blaze;
Where, through the scintillant-starred, long-lasting nights,
Auroral splendors up the dark heaven move,
And where one sees, through scant-lit, freezing days,
Colossal ice-plinths, full of emerald lights,
House the huge walrus in their crystal maze!
And I, the spirit whom all soft dreams fill,
I, the bland south wind, that can work no ill,
When her cold kisses through my warm lips thrill,
My life grows her life, and my will her will! ”
Edgar Fawcett.