Even the Wild Wind dies—
The bluebird carried on its wing,
The song of gold the dead birds sing:

Even the Wild Wind Dies.

Even the summer fades—
The sky embossed with golden glow,
The grass that in the wind did blow:

Even the summer fades.

Even the river dries—
The rocks that drank the endless draught,
The substance that the forest sought:

Yes—Even the river dries.

So you, my friend—my dearly loved—
Even you shall die.
The wind, the summer’s endless fire
The bird, the river’s ceaseless mire
With them you shall be gone.

But even as the Wild Wind dies,
The snows all cease,
The rivers rise.
Yes even as the summer bursts

I see the grave, the tomb cursed.

I touch the marble—cold as death—

I hear through tears: The summer saith—
Even you shall rise.