Four Little Lines

Continuing in my theme of short poems, here's one I learned in high school. It's one of probably four or five poems I can actually recite by heart. (I don't include dirty limericks, of which I have memorized dozens.)

Western Wind

Anonymous

O Western wind, when will thou blow,
The small rain down may rain?
Christ! that my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again.




It's so effective - there's both mystery and clarity in the four lines, with a sense of desperation and uprootedness. We can guess at the story, but to add anything more is purely speculation. This is all there is. We know no more.