I
Blow, winds, and waken her!
You, who have taken her,
Never forsaken her,
Filled her with spring!
My mad and merriest
Part of the veriest
Season and cheeriest:
Blow, winds! and sing,
Birds of the spring! that taught her
Airs of the woods; this daughter
Wild of the winds, that waft her
Into my heart with laughter,
Wild as a wildwood thing.
II
She, who is fraught with it,
Thrilled with it, brought with it,
Spring!—like a thought, with it
Beautiful too!
Now like a dream of it;
Filled with the gleam of it;
Now a bright beam of it,
Piercing me through,
Sweet, with her eyes that are often
Laughter and languor; that soften
Dreamily, drowsily, slowly,
Then, on a sudden, are wholly
Dancing as dew.
III
Face,—like the sweetest of
Perfumes,—completest of
Flowers God’s fleetest of
Months ever bear!—
Listen, O lisper wind,—
Lighter and crisper wind,—
Have you a whisper, wind,
Soft as her hair?
Night and the stars did spin it;
Darkness and brightness are in it:
Let but a ray of it bind me,
Wrap it around me and wind me,
Blind as the blind are and blinder,
Yet through my heart would I find her,
Lost though I were.