The poem
Then a wind blew; And he who had forgot he moved Lonely amid the green and silver morning weather, Suddenly grew Aware of clouds and trees Gleaming and white and shafted, shaken together And blown to music by the ruffling breeze.
Like flush of wings The moment passed: he stood Dazzled with blossom in the swaying wood; Then he remembered how, through all swift things, This mortal scene stands built of memories,- Shaped by the wise Who gazed in breathing wonderment, And left us their brave eyes To light the ways they went.