Thy gentle wind, and thy fair sunny noon,
And leave thee wild and sad!
Ah! twere a lot too bless’d
Forever in thy colored shades to stray;
Amid the tresses of the soft southwest,
To rove and dream for aye;
And leave the vain, low strife
That makes men mad—the tug for wealth and power,
The passions and the cares that wither life,
And waste its little hour.