Vayu The Wind

A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)

Ah, Wind, I have always loved thee

Since those far off nights

When I lay beneath the vines

A prey to strange delights,

For among my tresses

Thy soft caresses

Were sweet as a lover’s to me.

Later thou grewest more wanton, or I more shy,

And after the bath I drew my garments close,

Fearing thy soft persuasion amongst my hair

When thou camest fresh with the scent of some ruffled rose.

Ah, Wind, thou hast lain with the Desert,

I know her savour well,

And the spices wherewith she scents her breasts–

She who has known such countless lovers

Yet rarely borne a city among her sands–

Thou comest as one from a night of love,

Thy breath is broken and hard,–

Bringing echoes of lonely things,

Vast and cruel, that the soft and golden sands

Buried beneath thin ripples so long ago.

Ah, Wind, thou hast given me lovely things,

The scent of a thousand flowers,

And the heavy perfume of pollen-laden fields,

Strange snatches of wild song from the heart of the dark Bazaar

That thrilled to my very core,

Till I threw the sheet aside and rose to follow,–

But whither, or what?

Also, Wind, thou broughtest the breath of the sea,

The sound of its myriad waves.

And in nights when I lay on the lonely sands

Stretching mine arms to thee,

Thou gavest me something–faint and vast and sweet,

Something ineffable, wistful, from far away,

Elsewhere–Beyond–

And thou wast kind to me in my times of love,

Cooling my lips

That my lover wore away,

While, wafting the scent from his divided hair,

Thou show’dst the stars between

Far away, and eclipsed by his burning eyes

Even the stars.

And now I almost foresee the place and the hour

When I shall open my dying lips to thee

And receive a last cool kiss.

Afterwards, Wind, since I have always loved thee,–

Whirl my dust to the scented heart of a moghra flower,

_His_ flower, but, ah, thou knowest,–

So often thy kisses have mingled with his and mine.

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• For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid by William Stafford by William Stafford
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• Sonnet 127: In the old age black was not counted fair by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 126: O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 125: Were’t aught to me I bore the canopy by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 124: If my dear love were but the child of state by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 123: No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 122: Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 121: Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
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• Sonnet 119: What potions have I drunk of Siren tears by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 118: Like as to make our appetite more keen by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 117: Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 116: Let me not to the marriage of true minds by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

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