Wind

I let them call it just the Wind
And tell me not to grieve:
But I know all it left behind,
And more than they believe.

I know about the far-off lands
Where people never sleep;
They hide their faces in their hands,
And rock and weep and weep.

And I too little, all alone,
To go and find them yet:—
But oh, I hear!—When I am grown,
I never will forget.