To the South Wind, a Poem

TO THE SOUTH WIND.

Oh southern wind! Long hast thou linger'd mid those islands fair Which lie, like jewels, on the Indian deep, Or green waves, all asleep. Fed by the summer suns and azure air— O sweetest southern wind! Wilt thou not now unbind Thy dark and crowned hair ? Wilt thou not unloose now In this the bluest of all hours, Thy passion -color 'd flowers; And shaking the fine fragrance from thy brow, Kiss our girls' laughing lips and youthful eyes, And all that world of love which lower lies, Breathing, and warm, and white —purer than snow? O thou sweet southern wind! Come to me and unbind The languid blossoms which oppress my brow.

We, whom the northern blast Blows on from night to mom, from morn to ere, Hearing thee, sometimes grieve That our brief summer days not long must last; And yet perhaps 'twere well We should not ever dwell With thee, sweet spirit of the sunny south, But touch thy odorous mouth Once, and be gone unto our blasts again. And their bleak welcome, and our wintry snow; And arm us, by enduring, for that pain, Which the bad world sends forth, and all its woe. Anon.