Dria El
October 1st, 2001, 08:16 AM
FOUR WINDS
When the wind sets from the east
The spirit of the wave is stirred.
It longs to rush past us westward
To the land over which the sun sets,
To the green sea, rough and wild.
When the wind sets from the north,
It urges the dark feirce waves,
Surging in strife against the wide sky,
Listening to the witching song.
When the wind sets from the west,
Over the salt sea of swift currents,
It longs to go past us eastward
To capture the Sun-Tree
In the wide, far-distant sea.
When the wind sets from the south,
Over the land of the Saxons of stout sheilds
And the wave strikes the isle of Scit,
It surges up to the top of Calad Net
With a leafy, grey-green cloak.
--From Celtic Tree Magic
When the wind sets from the east
The spirit of the wave is stirred.
It longs to rush past us westward
To the land over which the sun sets,
To the green sea, rough and wild.
When the wind sets from the north,
It urges the dark feirce waves,
Surging in strife against the wide sky,
Listening to the witching song.
When the wind sets from the west,
Over the salt sea of swift currents,
It longs to go past us eastward
To capture the Sun-Tree
In the wide, far-distant sea.
When the wind sets from the south,
Over the land of the Saxons of stout sheilds
And the wave strikes the isle of Scit,
It surges up to the top of Calad Net
With a leafy, grey-green cloak.
--From Celtic Tree Magic