A speaker addresses the dawn wind as a lively, teasing child—fresh from marsh-moss or cliff, shaking a flower, frisking away, rumpling grass. Its playfulness stirs memory: the same wind once fluttered the speaker’s cradle curtains and whispered of fields before morning milk. Now that freedom feels both lovely and out of reach. The speaker’s thoughts are like cut flowers drying on paper made from dead wood—something once alive now pressed flat. The wind can still play, but the speaker feels too old, “swaddled, unwinged,” like a bird still in the egg. The closing plea—“Do not tag me and dance away”—mixes affection with exhaustion. The mood is wistful and tender, full of yearning for a lightness the speaker can no longer join.
Dawn Wind — Summary
Wind, just arisen-- (Off what cool mattress of marsh-moss In tented boughs leaf-drawn before the stars, Or niche of cliff under the eagles?) You of living things, So gay and tender and full of play-- Why do you blow on my thoughts--like cut flowers Gathered and laid to dry on this paper, rolled out of dead wood?
I see you Shaking that flower at me with soft invitation And frisking away, Deliciously rumpling the grass...
So you fluttered the curtains about my cradle, Prattling of fields Before I had had my milk... Did I stir on my pillow, making to follow you, Fleet One? I--swaddled, unwinged, like a bird in the egg.
Let be My dreams that crackle under your breath... You have the dust of the world to blow on... Do not tag me and dance away, looking back... I am too old to play with you, Eternal Child.