West Wind

COME in, wet wind of the West,
Through the dusty streets of the town,
With the scent of the new-mown hay,
And a song of a bird by the nest,
A breath of roses new blown,
The laughter of children at play !

The meadows are waving high
With plumy grasses of grey,
And golden-eyed daisies are born ;
There's a lark in the silvery sky,
And a thrush on the wild-rose spray,
And poppies in the green corn.

In the woods there's a singing burn,
And swallows stooping for flies
O'er pebbles, topaz, and beryl.
All day will the wood-doves mourn,
And gaze in each other's eyes ;
And the fronds of the fern uncurl.

Oh, blow, wet wind of the West,
Through every window and door
And kiss the children asleep,
And soothe the dying to rest,
In the dreary homes of the poor,
Where fever his watch doth keep !

The green things, heavy with pain,
Lift their languishing brows
From the highway's dust and its heat :
For thy beautiful daughter, the Rain,
Clad in the pearl and the rose,
Walks by thee with silvery feet.

Oh, freshest of winds that blow,
Come in from thy valleys cool
From the bowers of the evening star,
The gardens of after-glow,
With crimson roses at full,
And lilies that perfect are.