The wind.

The gale wished to reign over the plain In its impetuous impulse, And it tormented all the surface, Even a centuries-old elm, enormous and gnarled. From the fertile boughs – it said – the seed Could fill the earth, germinate, and grow; We foresaw a struggle, and we await to see What impediment there might be to my mighty power. And at the small green plumes Its blows stripped the leaves;

In swift whirlwinds they go off into the full air, The grains which, meanwhile, escaped The gust that strives to carry them in its flights, And to the ground, however, they come to rest. Ah! Against the laws of Love and of Wisdom, Before Spiritism, the tree of truth, The wind of incredulity Blows and howls in vain, day after day. It makes to be born and to grow what it thinks to oppress: And it helps it to sow… never to destroy the good germ. C. Dombre, (of Marmande.)