University of Virginia Library

SONG OF THE WIND.

Cheerily,
Merrily
Dancing along
The crest of my song
Breaks over the lines,
And foams as it reaches
The marvellous beaches
Of dark tossing pines.
Here I go rushing
Down into valleys
Half shadowed over;
Brooklets are hushing
Themselves in the clover
That laughs at my sallies.
Here
Like a deer
Let me race
On the prairies,
With dews for the flowers,
And diamonds in showers
To gem the blue face
Of the delicate fairies.
Down in the grass
Lightly I pass
Slipping,
Or dipping
As a wild bird
In the trough of a sea,
Or as a herd
When bushes are stirred
Merrily skipping
Over the lea.
Kiss me, you wild rose,
While I embrace.
Thou art a child, rose!
Why should the rush
Of a pink in a blush
Come over thy face?
Darling, but this is
The joy of thy kisses:—
That I may bear
Thy sweetness of breath
In a blast of fresh air
To a chamber of death.—
Ho! little swallow,
Let us both follow
Into the West
The car of Apollo
That rolls to its rest!—
Good-night, birch-tree,
Hie thee to sleep
Wrapped in thy leaves.
Why dost thou search, tree?
Why dost thou weep
Where the nightingale lingers?
Why wring thy white fingers
As a maiden who grieves?—
Here is a city.
The lamps are all lighted.
Poor folks are sighted
Only by me;
Shivering,
Quivering
Down by the corners,
Querulous mourners.
O what a pity
Such sadness to see!—
Out on the road again.
Down in the grassy lane,
There is a country lass
Milking her cows.
Plump are her arms.
Shall I arouse
Her love or alarms
By greeting her brows
With a kiss as I pass?
Ha! There's the moon
Reigning so lonely!—
Let the wench go;
She 's in her teens.—
This is the only
Empress of night.
Better to know
The kisses of queens.
What do I care
For the wrath of the fair?
Must I bow to her light?
Shall I hush in a swoon
For this lady of air?
Nay:—cloudlets grasp her.
Stars try, but miss her.
Let me go kiss her.
I too will clasp her.—
Rogue of a star,
You queer little eye
Of an angel whose gaze
Is fixed in amaze
Over the sky;
Out with thy gleaming!
Wink now, and bellow,
And turn thyself yellow
To hear the blaspheming
Of such a bold fellow!—
Good-night, heaven!
Farewell, flowers!
The clerk of the hours
Is ringing eleven.
Earth, good-night!
May dreams of pearl
Weave starry numbers
Into thy slumbers,
Sweet young girl
In thy robe of white!
All things sleep.
Now to my rest,
Rocked on the breast
Where the wild songs creep
Of old nurse Ocean.
Soft be thy motion,
Wrinkled dame Deep!