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Over
the
dead
leaves
flickering
and
muttering
.
And
he
said
to
the
wind
,
“
Come
,
follow
;
come
,
follow
,
With
whistle
and
pipe
,
and
rustle
and
hollo
.
”
And
the
wind
wound
round
at
his
desire
,
As
if
he
had
been
the
gold
cock
on
the
spire
.
And
the
cock
itself
flew
down
from
the
church
,
And
left
the
farmers
all
in
the
lurch
.
They
run
and
they
fly
,
they
creep
and
they
come
,
Everything
,
everything
,
all
and
some
.
The
very
trees
they
tugged
at
their
roots
,
