THE WIND OF SUMMER
From the hills and far away
All the long, warm summer day
Comes the Wind and seems to say:
“Come, oh, come! and let us go
Where the meadows bend and blow,
Waving with the white-tops’ snow.
“’Neath the hyssop-colored sky
’Mid the meadows we will lie
Watching the white clouds roll by;
“While your hair my hands shall press
With a cooling tenderness
Till your grief grows less and less:
“Come, oh, come! and let us roam
Where the rock-cut waters comb
Flowing crystal into foam.
“Under trees whose trunks are brown,
On the banks that violets crown,
We will watch the fish flash down;
“While my voice your ear shall soothe
With a whisper soft and smooth
Till your care shall wax uncouth.
“Come! where forests, line on line,—
Armies of the oak and pine,—
Scale the hills and shout and shine.