And thou, West Wind,
Wild spirit, thou,
Who charr’d the world, the tornado floods,
Dost thou know
Why I languish beneath that spark?
That I would weave tangible dreams
From snow-wreathed boughs.

And be it known,
From the world of trees, the restless hours!
Howe’er I may wander,
Then it be softly told,
I will travel quick as a bird.
It matters not the shore;
My heart shall roam where the wildflowers grow.

• Lord Byron