Synopsis

Oh! wind that whistles o'er thorns and thistles, Of this fruitful earth like a goblin elf; Why should he labour to help his neighbour Who feels too reckless to help himself? The wail of the breeze in the bending trees Is something between a laugh and a groan; And the hollow roar of the surf on the shore Is a dull, discordant monotone; I wish I could guess what sense they express, There's a meaning, doubtless, in every sound, Yet no one can tell, and it may be as well— Whom would it profit?—The world goes round!