windianápolis #n

The wind blew all my wedding-day,
And my wedding-night was the night of the high wind;
And a stable door was banging, again and again,
That he must go and shut it, leaving me
Stupid in candlelight, hearing rain,
Seeing my face in the twisted candlestick,
Yet seeing nothing. When he came back
He said the horses were restless, and I was sad
That any man or beast that night should lack
The happiness I had.

Philip Larkin in Wedding Wind

windianápolis #4

O 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 hectic red,

Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,

Each like a corpse within its grave, until

Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill

(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)

With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;

Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!

.

 

de Percy B. Shelley, in Ode to West Wind

Windianápolis #3

No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;

The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams


William Butler Yeats, in  The Withering of the Boughs

Windianápolis #2

 This is how the wind shifts:

Like the thoughts of an old man,

Who still thinks eagerly

And despairingly.

The wind shifts like this:

Like a human without illusions,

Who still feels irrational things within her.

The winds shifts like this:

Like humans approaching proudly,

Like humans approaching angrily.

This is how the wind shifts:

Like a human, heavy an heavy,

Who does not care.

Wallace Stevens, «The Wind shifts» in Harmonium, 1923 (recolhido da "Antologia" ed. Relógio de Água, 2005)

Windianápolis

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

Christina Rossetti, in «Who Has Seen the Wind?», The Complete Poems (Penguin Classics, 1993, p. 143)