The East Wind
The white wind of the South it blows from far away,
The black wind of the North from the gates of Hell is driven,
The gray wind of the West, maybe she blows from Heaven,
But the red wind, the East wind's the wind of the judgment day,
The white wind and the gray wind they bring the kindly rain,
The black wind and the gray wind they carry storm and snow;
But when the East wind's blowing, the sleeping dead they know
By the breath upon their feet that 'tis time to rise again.
No ghost can wake from slumber when the North and West winds blow;
The dead lie still and stir not, in their yellowing cerecloths bound;
But when the East wind rustles the dead leaves above ground,
It is the dead men's holiday, and back to earth they go.
They open close-sealed chambers, and they rustle up the stairs;
They enter hearts that know them and hearts that have forgot:
They leave beside love's rosemary tear-wet forget-me-not,
For the East's the wind of memory, and nothing else is theirs.