The wind is singing through the trees to-night, <br />A deep-voiced song of rushing cadences <br />And crashing intervals. No summer breeze <br />Is this, though hot July is at its height, <br />Gone is her gentler music; with delight <br />She listens to this booming like the seas, <br />These elemental, loud necessities <br />Which call to her to answer their swift might. <br />Above the tossing trees shines down a star, <br />Quietly bright; this wild, tumultuous joy <br />Quickens nor dims its splendour. And my mind, <br />O Star! is filled with your white light, from far, <br />So suffer me this one night to enjoy <br />The freedom of the onward sweeping wind.<br /><br />Amy Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-night-4/
