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Robert Bridges

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The storm is over, the land hushes to rest:
The tyrannous wind, its strength fordone,
Is fallen back in the west.
--
The Storm is Over, The Land Hushes to Rest, l. 1-3.

 
Robert Bridges

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It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries;
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Mitt did not quite forget his perfect land. He remembered it, though a little fuzzily, next time the wind dropped, but he did not set off to look for it again. It was plain to him that soldiers only brought you back again if you went. It made him sad. When an inkling of it came to him in silence, or in scents, or, later, if the wind hummed a certain note, or a storm came shouting in from the sea and he caught the same note in the midst of its noise, he thought of his lost perfect place and felt for a moment as if his heart would break.

 
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