1820

THE WEST WIND

by William Cullen Bryant

THE WEST WIND -

Beneath the forest's skirt I rest,

Whose branching pines rise dark and high,

And hear the breezes of the West

Among the thread-like foliage sigh. -

Sweet Zephyr! why that sound of woe?

Is not thy home among the flowers?

Do not the bright June roses blow,

To meet thy kiss at morning hours? -

And lo! thy glorious realm outspread-

Yon stretching valleys, green and gay,

And yon free hill-tops, o'er whose head

The loose white clouds are borne away. -

And there the full broad river runs,

And many a fount wells fresh and sweet,

To cool thee when the mid-day suns

Have made thee faint beneath their heat -

Thou wind of joy, and youth, and love;

Spirit of the new-wakened year!

The sun in his blue realm above

Smooths a bright path when thou art here. -

In lawns the murmuring bee is heard,

The wooing ring-dove in the shade;

On thy soft breath, the new-fledged bird

Takes wing, half happy, half afraid. -

Ah! thou art like our wayward race;-

When not a shade of pain or ill

Dims the bright smile of Nature's face,

Thou lov'st to sigh and murmur still. - -