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 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 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! 
 Perhaps the wind
 Wails so in winter for the summer's dead,
  And all sad sounds are nature's read more 
 Perhaps the wind
 Wails so in winter for the summer's dead,
  And all sad sounds are nature's funeral cries
   For what has been and is not. 
 Blow, Boreas, foe to human kind!
 Blow, blustering, freezing, piercing wind!
  Blow, that thy force I may read more 
 Blow, Boreas, foe to human kind!
 Blow, blustering, freezing, piercing wind!
  Blow, that thy force I may rehearse,
   While all my thoughts congeal to verse! 
 The wind, the wandering wind
 Of the golden summer eyes--
  Whence is the thrilling magic
  read more 
 The wind, the wandering wind
 Of the golden summer eyes--
  Whence is the thrilling magic
   Of its tunes amongst the leaves?
    Oh, is it from the waters,
     Or from the long, tall grass?
      Or is it from the hollow rocks
       Through which its breathings pass? 
 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. 
 Where hast thou wandered. gentle gale, to find
 The perfumes thou dost bring?  
 Where hast thou wandered. gentle gale, to find
 The perfumes thou dost bring? 
 I hear the wind among the trees
 Playing the celestial symphonies;
  I see the branches downward bent,
read more 
 I hear the wind among the trees
 Playing the celestial symphonies;
  I see the branches downward bent,
   Like keys of some great instrument. 
 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.