I am finished, but you live on. <br />And the wind, crying and moaning, <br />rocks the house and the clearing, <br />not each pine alone, <br />but all the trees together, <br />with the vast distance, whole, <br />like the hulls of vessels, <br />moored in a bay, storm-blown. <br />And it shakes them not from mischief, <br />and not with an aimless tone, <br />but to find, for you, from its grief, <br />the words of a cradle-song.<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/storm-wind/
