Where the wind blows from far away

We walked by the river
where the willows bend
and meld with water.

She was to me
a thing of beauty.
I watched her
but she would not watch me.

By and by she raised her head,
locks glistening golden-red,
and I thought if I caught her then
and held her in my arms
she’d turn into a blooming tree
and stay,
stay with me.

But no Apollo was I
nor Zeus who on feathery wings could fly
to win the hearts of mortal kind.
Men, we have feebler charms —
arms to carry and hands to mend
and hearts that break before they bend
and change their shape
and in the end
to save our pride
we pretend
and shy away
and slink into the shadows
to hide
like wounded animals.

My heart, what can I say? I stood
and dreamed
while she spoke of a glittering bay
and a land far across the sea
where the wind blows from far away.

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All poetry is housed on The Poetry Deck archives.

You may also enjoy the poems Quartet and Child of the Sun. Curious about the inspiration behind this poem? Check out Ovid’s Metamorphoses.

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