The Genie Who Speaks In The Wind

And the genie who
speaks in the wind
poured into my heart
the philter of the Mountain.
It was indeed the
spirit of the Mountain
who was tormenting me.
He was waiting for me,
crouching in the
hollow of the rock.
His invisible wing
had brushed me
as I passed.
Thus crossing by the
border of the Black Lake,
in the Autumn mist,
listening to the
plaintive voice of the wind,
the passion,
the sublime passion
for the Mountain
possessed me.
--Pier Giorgio Frassati