Float on, thou wandering wind and sing of good. Tis winter: fast the wandering wind
is flying, hoarsely howling by. The spirit of the wandering man had passed away from
earth – far other home awaits him than the valley of his birth. And wandering sprites
those systems wile to the pearl-strewn shores of their Jewel Isle! Save the wild lustre
of thy burning eye, like wandering fire far-shining down a fathomless abyss. Luna is
wandering white round her car; cloud-streams meandering float from afar. Dread ye
not the lurid terror? – wandering shapes of human error. The owl watches in his tower;
and zephyr, like a wandering troubadour, sports on a ruined battlement. The homeless
mind now darkles on its weary, wandering way. How silent, mysterious, this spirit of a
wandering cloud of dew! Uncurbed, wild – her thoughts become like a wandering child.
French, Lucy Virginia. Wind-Whispers: A Collection of Poems. Nashville: French, 1856. https://archive.org/details/windwhisperscoll00fren