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.

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.

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.

But certain winds will make men's temper bad.

But certain winds will make men's temper bad.

The wind's in the east. . . . I am always conscious of an
uncomfortable sensation now and then read more

The wind's in the east. . . . I am always conscious of an
uncomfortable sensation now and then when the wind is blowing in
the east.

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.

Madame, bear in mind
That princes govern all things--save the wind.

Madame, bear in mind
That princes govern all things--save the wind.

Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay
In the gay woods and in the golden air,
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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.

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.