The wind is a restless soul tonight;
It rattles and shrieks in the tormented trees.
It teases the lamppost and makes her cry;
It chases the tail of the frantic breeze.
The panes and the lintels and frames are rattled;
They answer with sundry creaks and groans.
Shingles have all of their feelings flustered;
They vent their frustration in muffled moans.
Grasses and greenery join in the dance;
Cavorting and sighing, with frenzied wave,
They add to the motioned contortion; they prance,
And, all up in arms, with countenance grave
They heave, and they protest to bowing so low;
Creatures on edge, with tails fluffed on end
Slink around corners and sulk in moon’s glow,
Alarmed at the way in which all the world bends.
The wind is a restless soul tonight.
It enters my bedroom, infecting my rest;
My soul wanders with it, and, sensing its flight,
Allows it to rustle within my chest.