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?


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.


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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