Poems (Cromwell)/Song (Love is like a wind that passes)
For works with similar titles, see Song.
SONG
Love is like a wind that passes
Its fingers through the blades and grasses.
Love itself is hidden from sight,
But all we see is through its light,
Love is like a soft song sweeping
The hills and valleys of its keeping;
Love is like a white scythe gleaning
Every meadow's happy meaning.
Oh, the meadow's dream we saw there,
Soft enough so ferns could grow there!
Love is like a flame unfolding,
Needs delight should wait its moulding,
Needs delight should wait while sorrow
Makes it pure for love to-morrow.
Love is like a wind that passes
Its fingers through the blades and grasses.
Its fingers through the blades and grasses.
Love itself is hidden from sight,
But all we see is through its light,
Love is like a soft song sweeping
The hills and valleys of its keeping;
Love is like a white scythe gleaning
Every meadow's happy meaning.
Oh, the meadow's dream we saw there,
Soft enough so ferns could grow there!
Love is like a flame unfolding,
Needs delight should wait its moulding,
Needs delight should wait while sorrow
Makes it pure for love to-morrow.
Love is like a wind that passes
Its fingers through the blades and grasses.