The speaker in this tiny poem is caught up in a sensation of flight. Twice she declares, with almost incantatory delight, that the wind is carrying her around the sky. Then comes a quiet, matter-of-fact confession: her body is still down in the valley. That split—between a soaring spirit and an earthbound body—creates both the poem’s tension and its wonder. She isn’t literally flying; she’s experiencing a rush of imagination or feeling so powerful that it lifts her out of herself. The mood is ecstatic and a little mystical, like a sudden, joyful glimpse of freedom. The repetition of the opening line, identical each time, feels like a gust of wind giving voice to a deep longing to break free from gravity. And the final line, returning to that same phrase after the dash, leaves us suspended in the sky with her, still held aloft.
The Wind — Summary
The wind is carrying me round the sky; The wind is carrying me round the sky. My body is here in the valley — The wind is carrying me round the sky.