A WHIRL-BLAST FROM BEHIND THE HILL
~ Wm. Wordsworth


A whirl-blast from behind the hill
Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound:
Then all at once the air was still,
And showers of hailstones pattered round.
Where leafless Oaks towered high above,
I sate within an undergrove
Of tallest hollies, tall and green,
A fairer bower was never seen.
From year to year the spacious floor
With withered leaves is covered o'er,
You could not lay a hair between:
And all the year the bower is green.
But see!  where'er the hailstones drop
The withered leaves all skip and hop,
There's not a breeze ~ no breath of air ~
Yet here, and there, and everywhere
Along the floor, beneath the shade
By those embowering hollies made,
The leaves in myriads jump and spring,
As if with pips and music rare
Some Robin Goodfellow were there,
And all those leaves, that jump and spring,
Were each a joyous, living thing.

Oh! grant me Heaven a heart at ease
That I may never cease to find,
Even in appearances like these
Enough to nourish and to stir my mind!

~ Wm. Wordsworth (1770 - 1850) English Romantic Poet