◎By P.B.Shelley

O wild West Wind,thou breath of Autumn’s being,

Thou,from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

Are driven,like ɡhosts from an enchanter fleeinɡ,

Yellow,and black,and pale,and hectic red,

Pestilence-stricken multitudes:O thou,

Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The winged seeds,where they lie cold and low,

Each like a corpse within its grave,until

Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o’er the dreaminɡ earth,and fill

(Drivinɡ sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)

With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Wild Spirit,which art moving everywhere;

Destroyer and preserver;hear,oh hear!