I called to the wind of the Winter, <br />As he sped like a steed on his way, <br />'Oh! rest for awhile on thy journey, <br />And answer these questions, I pray. <br /> <br /> <br />'Who is the foe to all virtue, <br />Who is the chieftain of crime? <br />Who blackens the forehead of beauty, <br />And cheateth the finger of time? <br />Who maketh the heart to be aged, <br />In the beautiful morning of youth? <br />Who is the herald of sorrow, <br />And who the assassin of Truth? <br />Who is the help-meet of Satan, <br />The agent of regions below? <br />Who the promoter of vices? <br />Who loadeth the bosom with woe? <br />Who stealeth the strength of the mighty? <br />Who stealeth the wits of the wise? <br />Who maketh the good and the noble <br />A thing that the meanest despise?' <br /> <br /> <br />And the wind of the wild Winter answered, <br />In a voice like a clarion call: <br />''Tis a beast legion-headed, a demon <br />Whom men christened 'King Alcohol.' <br />This is the help-meet that Satan <br />Sends out from the kingdom of hell, <br />A many-faced demon, who doeth <br />The work of the master right well; <br />For he weaveth his web round the noble, <br />And slayeth the soul with his breath. <br />Ah! this is the foe to all virtue, <br />And this is the agent of death.'<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/words-from-the-wind/
