To George Sterling

By Margaret S. Cobb

In youth he loved the sweep of all the winds
That called and urged swift tumult in the skies,
He dreamed of them from strange lands derelict
Of regions far of sheer bounds undefined
Of some far misty plain, gray, needful vast,
Where all life's longings might be stayed or swelled
As is the sea.

And then he learned to listen o'er the winds
For some strange current borne from kindly vasts;
Within his heart was answer for some call
That naught on earth or sea or in man's heart
Was sought of him; but on the breath
Of some far wind to him would come the call
To which he could respond.

Through years he listened, till the guile of Time
Laid with light craft the snow above his brow
And placed its weights upon his pulse and breath,
Seeming its wish to silence all his songs.
But still the songs, though wearily there came Doubt in his brain with thoughts of ceasing hours
And heavy darkness.

But one spent eve it came, to him—alone,
That swift wind, courier from far unlearned coasts,
Swelled deep with storm of sweet eternal youth,
Vibrant with venture. Well he knew its call.
Then from his flesh with his own will he tore
That which was like the wind, unseen, eternal, light
And with the wind to homing vasts was gone.

Overland Monthly and Out West Magazine (1868-1935); March 1927; Volume LXXXV, Number 3, pg 82.