A STORM.
Come, teasing wind, we will fly,
Seek our heart’s desire, you and I;
Fit comrade for me,
Thou breath of liberty,
I sigh for the freedom of your wings.
The sea will make us horses for our speed.
The fields will give the perfume of their seed,
In the woods a sweet rose blowing
We will scatter it in going.
And bear the lark up sunward as he sings.
Go! we must part, you and I;
Not this my heart’s desire, so good-bye!
Had I thought a moment’s madness
Had wrought so dire a sadness.
My soul had never sorrowed for thy wings.
What have the tossing waves found for their play?
Have mercy, let the white face hide away!
