I THINK, ofttimes, that lives of men may be Likened to wandering winds that come and go, Not knowing whence they rise, whither they blow O'er the vast globe, voiceful of grief or glee. Some lives are buoyant zephyrs sporting free In tropic sunshine; some long winds of woe That shun the day, wailing with murmurs low, Through haunted twilights, by the unresting sea; Others are ruthless, stormful, drunk with might, Born of deep passion or malign desire: They rave 'mid thunder-peals and clouds of fire. Wild, reckless all, save that some power unknown Guides each blind force till life be overblown, Lost in vague hollows of the fathomless night.
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