Remembered Joy. Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free! ... Ah yes, these things I, too, shall miss. ... He gives breath to all. He gives life to all.
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