I

　　0 wild West Wind， thou breath of Autumn's being，

　　Thou， from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

　　Are driven， like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing，

　　Yellow， and black， and pale， and hectic¹ red，

　　Pestilence-stricken multitudes： 0 thou，

　　Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

　　The wingèd seeds， where they lie cold and low，

　　Each like a corpse² within its grave，until

　　Thine azure³ sister of the Spring shall blow

　　Her clarion⁴ o'er the dreaming earth， and fill

　　（Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air）

　　With living hues⁵ and odours plain and hill：

　　Wild Spirit， which art moving everywhere；

　　Destroyer and Preserver； hear， 0 hear！

　　II

　　Thou on whose stream， 'mid⁶ the steep sky's commotion⁷，

　　Loose clouds like Earth's decaying leaves are shed，

　　Shook from the tangled⁸ boughs⁹ of Heaven and Ocean，

　　Angels of rain and lightning： there are spread

　　On the blue surface of thine airy surge，

　　Like the bright hair uplifted from the head

　　Of some fierce Maenad， even from the dim verge¹⁰

　　Of the horizon to the zenith's height，

　　The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge¹¹

　　Of the dying year， to which this closing night

　　Will be the dome¹² of a vast sepulchre

　　Vaulted¹³ with all thy congregated¹⁴ might

　　Of vapours， from whose solid atmosphere

　　Black rain， and fire， and hail will burst： 0 hear！

　　III

　　Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams

　　The blue Mediterranean¹⁵， where he lay，

　　Lulled¹⁶ by the coil of his crystalline streams，

　　Beside a pumice isle¹⁷ in Baiae's bay，

　　And saw in sleep old palaces and towers

　　Quivering within the wave's intenser day，

　　All overgrown with azure moss¹⁸ and flowers

　　So sweet， the sense faints picturing them！ Thou

　　For whose path the Atlantic's level powers

　　Cleave¹⁹ themselves into chasms²⁰， while far below

　　The sea-blooms and the oozy²¹ woods which wear

　　The sapless foliage²² of the ocean， know

　　Thy voice， and suddenly grow grey with fear，

　　And tremble and despoil²³ themselves： 0 hear！

　　IV

　　If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear；

　　If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee；

　　A wave to pant beneath thy power， and share

　　The impulse of thy strength， only less free

　　Than thou， 0 Uncontrollable！ If even

　　I were as in my boyhood， and could be

　　The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven，

　　As then， when to outstrip²⁴ thy skiey speed

　　Scarce seemed a vision； I would ne'er have striven

　　As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.

　　Oh！ lift me as a wave， a leaf， a cloud！

　　I fall upon the thorns of life！ I bleed！

　　A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed

　　One too like thee： tameless， and swift， and proud.

　　V

　　Make me thy lyre， even as the forest is：

　　What if my leaves are falling like its own！

　　The tumult²⁵ of thy mighty²⁶ harmonies

　　Will take from both a deep， autumnal tone，

　　Sweet though in sadness. Be thou， Spirit fierce，

　　My spirit！ Be thou me， impetuous one！

　　Drive my dead thoughts over the universe

　　Like withered²⁷ leaves to quicken a new birth！

　　And， by the incantation of this verse，

　　Scatter²⁸， as from an unextinguished hearth²⁹

　　Ashes and sparks， my words among mankind！

　　Be through my lips to unawakened Earth

　　The trumpet³⁰ of a prophecy！ 0 Wind，

　　If Winter comes， can Spring be far behind？

 

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