Ode to the West Wind
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou
Who chariotest to their chaffy bed
The dead leaves, like a swarm of flies,
Hastening across the sky,
O thou!

Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne
Title: Ode to the West Wind.

• Algernon Charles Swinburne