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.