John Vance Cheney

A breath, whence no man knows,
Swaying the grating weeds, it blows;
It comes, it grieves, it read more

A breath, whence no man knows,
Swaying the grating weeds, it blows;
It comes, it grieves, it goes.
Once it rocked the summer rose.

The wind is awake, pretty leave, pretty leaves,
Heed not what he says, he deceives, he deceives;
read more

The wind is awake, pretty leave, pretty leaves,
Heed not what he says, he deceives, he deceives;
Over and over
To the lowly clover
He has lisped the same love (and forgotten it, too).
He will be lisping and pledging to you.

The message from the hedge-leaves,
Heed it, whoso thou art;
Under lowly eaves
Lives read more

The message from the hedge-leaves,
Heed it, whoso thou art;
Under lowly eaves
Lives the happy heart.

Holding occasion by the hand,
Not over nice 'twixt weed and flower,
Waiving what none can understand,
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Holding occasion by the hand,
Not over nice 'twixt weed and flower,
Waiving what none can understand,
I make mine hour.

I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not read more

I question not if thrushes sing,
If roses load the air;
Beyond my heart I need not reach
When all is summer there.