The wind rushing past me was monstrous wild
by Philippa Lane
As I clambered to the top of the downs;
My feet were dirty and aching bad
When at last I reached the crown.
But what cared I for such trivial things
When such wonderful nature swept by me:
The trees and the grass blowing awry
In the boisterous spring wind,
Which ruffled my hair and made my face sting.
There was I, a solitary figure,
Alone on the top of the downs:
With all of the clouds astir
And far from any town -
The sea in the distance
A single grey line,
How I felt, how I saw those views
I sat upon a hillock of springy green turf,
Saw the new buds on the trees;
And the whole of the world seemed full
Of new birth - then the wind
Suddenly dropped to a breeze.
The white chalk paths, so rough and stony,
Wound higher and higher up each hill,
And I sat and thought how good to be lonely,
And for a second all was still.
But I could not have it the way I wished,
The wind grew louder, the air more chill;
I saw a path, though knew not to where it lead,
But I walked and I walked and behind me
Everything once more was still.
(Written after going for a walk on the Willingdon downs.)