As winds come whispering lightly from the West, Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.
Ye winds ye unseen currents of the air, Softly ye played a few brief hours ago; Ye bore the murmuring bee; ye tossed the air O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow; Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue; Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew; Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew, Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow.
I must stay under the old tree in the midst of the long grass, the luxury of the leaves, and the song in the very air. It seems as if I could feel all the glowing life the sunshine gives and the south winds calls into being.
They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
A voice of greeting from the wind was sent; The mists enfolded me with soft white arms; The birds did sing to lap me in content, The rivers wove their charms, And every little daisy in the grass Did look up in my face, and smile to see me pass!
Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilirate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature.
Tell me not here, it needs not saying, What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays, For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways.
He knew what the wind was doing to them, where it was taking them, to all the secret places that were never so secret again in life.
There's a natural mystic blowing through the air. If you listen carefully now, you will hear.
Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.
I listened to the wind bury winter; and when I tasted his grace, his grace had no name; only, night became something else in his presence, as though darkness had a soul, here, swaying to heartbeats roaring.
