Poetry Sunday: The Wind and the Moon by George Macdonald

This was one of my favorite poems when I was a child; this and Paul Revere's Ride by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, which probably tells you everthing you need to know about my childhood taste in poetry! So when I came across it this past week in my search for a poem to feature today, I thought "Yes!" And here it is. Enjoy.
The Wind and the Moon
by George Macdonald
Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out;
You stare
In the air
Like a ghost in a chair,
Always looking what I am about —
I hate to be watched; I'll blow you out."

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.
So, deep
On a heap
Of clouds to sleep,
Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon,
Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon."

He turned in his bed; she was there again!
On high
In the sky,
With her one ghost eye,
The Moon shone white and alive and plain.
Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again."

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim.
"With my sledge,
And my wedge,
I have knocked off her edge!
If only I blow right fierce and grim,
The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."

He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.
"One puff
More's enough
To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred,
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread."

He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone.
In the air
Nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare;
Far off and harmless the shy stars shone —
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down,
In town,
Like a merry—mad clown,
He leaped and halloed with whistle and roar —
"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage — he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain;
For still the broader the Moon—scrap grew,
The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew — till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne
In the sky alone,
A matchless, wonderful silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.

Said the Wind: "What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath,
Good faith!
I blew her to death —
First blew her away right out of the sky —
Then blew her in; what strength have I!

But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair;
For high
In the sky,
With her one white eye,
Motionless, miles above the air,
She had never heard the great Wind blare.

Comments

  1. A lovely, whimsical tale. You had impeccable tastes in poetry as a child, Dorothy. The Longfellow poem is familiar to me, but this one is new.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Poetry critics would likely look with askance but I will always love this poem.

      Delete
  2. Love that last stanza especially. There's a lesson in there somewhere about the hot air of the wind and the cool calm of the moon. ;D

    ReplyDelete
  3. It is a pretty neat (as we said in the old days) poem.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Nice little life lesson in this one.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

Open Season (Joe Pickett #1) by C.J. Box - A review