The weather was changing again, and the wind was in the west. Algy decided to fly over to the Sound, to watch the wind blow fresh clouds in from the ocean, and look at the April light on the water. This was a month of ever-changing light; a time when bright sunshine burst through clouds and was gone again, when it might rain at any moment and then stop again just as suddenly, and when blue sky appeared and disappeared in rapid succession. Although it still felt cold, Algy loved the west wind, and he loved the month of April. As he perched on the rocks, he thought of John Masefield’s famous poem, and felt very glad that he was at home in the west land where the larks and thrushes sing:

          It’s a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries;
          I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.
          For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills.
          And April’s in the west wind, and daffodils.

          It’s a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine,
          Apple orchards blossom there, and the air’s like wine.
          There is cool green grass there, where men may lie at rest,
          And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the nest.

         “Will ye not come home brother? ye have been long away,
          It’s April, and blossom time, and white is the may;
          And bright is the sun brother, and warm is the rain,–
          Will ye not come home, brother, home to us again?

          "The young corn is green, brother, where the rabbits run.
          It’s blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and sun.
          It’s song to a man’s soul, brother, fire to a man’s brain,
          To hear the wild bees and see the merry spring again.

          "Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the green wheat,
          So will ye not come home, brother, and rest your tired feet?
          I’ve a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for aching eyes,”
          Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries.

          It’s the white road westwards is the road I must tread
          To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for heart and head,
          To the violets, and the warm hearts, and the thrushes’ song,
          In the fine land, the west land, the land where I belong.

[Algy is quoting John Masefield’s poem The West Wind.]

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