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Archive for December 11th, 2014

Where have you been, South Wind, this May-day morning,—

With larks aloft, or skimming with the swallow,

Or with blackbirds in a green, sun-glinted thicket?

2.

Oh, I heard you like a tyrant in the valley;

Your ruffian haste shook the young, blossoming orchards;

You clapped rude hands, hallooing round the chimney,

And white your pennons streamed along the river.

3.

You have robbed the bee, South Wind, in your adventure,

Blustering with gentle flowers; but I forgave you

When you stole to me shyly with scent of hawthorn.

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