Poems (Cromwell)/The Mocking Wind

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THE MOCKING WIND
O wind, you will not break my house; Though you come to my house in bodily form, Though you tramp on the doorstep and over the stone, Though you knock on my roof and my window with storm.
O Wind, though you lift your mischievous hand, Rubbing your smooth palm over my door, Though your elbows nudge the wall of my room, Though you hum with contentment over my floor,—
O Wind, you will not break my house; Your mirth will not shake the resting beams; For a slow and a careful Carpenter Built me my house,—my house of dreams.
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