What the Wind Sang.
Oh, heard ye what the dawn-wind sang,
Clean from the crystal night?
It blew a new breath thro’ the world,
And set the sun alight.
Oh, heard ye how it clarioned clear,
With all the world for scope?
A new soul flickered into life,
The dawn-wind sang of Hope.
Oh, heard ye how the noon-wind droned
And laughed in drowsy mirth?
The warm day drank a draught of gold,
And flung the dregs to earth.
A hawk poised in the lifted blue,
But little recked the dove.
She preened her breast in purity;
The wind sang “Love — ah! love!”
Oh, hear ye how the night-wind wails,
All through the streaming dark?
It whirls a white dust thro’ the air,
The ashes of a spark.
Oh, hear ye how the night-wind wails
In anguish scarce suppressed?
A soul is rocking on its wings
And cannot, cannot rest.
Agnes L. Storrie. Poems, J. W. Kettlewell, Sydney, 1909, pages 215-216
recked = past tense of “reck”, to have a care or pay heed to something