Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay
In the gay woods and in the golden air,
Like to a good old age released from care,
Journeying, in long serenity, away.
In such a bright, late quiet, would that I
Might wear out life like thee, mid bowers and brooks,
And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
And music of kind voices ever nigh;
And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
Pass silently from men as thou dost pass.
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The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
read more
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep.
In measure, when it shooteth forth, thou wilt debate with it: he
stayeth his rough wind in the day read more
In measure, when it shooteth forth, thou wilt debate with it: he
stayeth his rough wind in the day of the east wind.
A breeze came wandering from the sky,
Light as the whispers of a dream;
He put the read more
A breeze came wandering from the sky,
Light as the whispers of a dream;
He put the o'erhanging grasses by,
And softly stooped to kiss the stream,
The pretty stream, the flattered stream,
The shy, yet unreluctant stream.
A litle wind kindles; much puts out the fire.
[A little wind kindles; much puts out the fire.]
A litle wind kindles; much puts out the fire.
[A little wind kindles; much puts out the fire.]
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds read more
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
The wind moans, like a long wail from some despairing soul shut
out in the awful storm!
The wind moans, like a long wail from some despairing soul shut
out in the awful storm!
It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears read more
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.
The hushed winds wail with feeble moan
Like infant charity.
The hushed winds wail with feeble moan
Like infant charity.
An ill wind that bloweth no man good--
The blower of which blast is she.
An ill wind that bloweth no man good--
The blower of which blast is she.
