Poems (Jones)/The South Wind
For works with similar titles, see The South Wind.
H, the light south wind!It brought us the odor of orange bowers,Of citron-trees, and of all rare flowers,As we sat by our doors in summery hours; Did the light south wind.
THE SOUTH WIND.
H, the light south wind!It brought us the odor of orange bowers,Of citron-trees, and of all rare flowers,As we sat by our doors in summery hours; Did the light south wind. Oh, the sweet south wind!It brought us the oriole's love-breathing note;The paroquet's praise of his pretty green coat;The carols that gush from the mocking-bird's throat; Did the sweet south wind.
Oh, the loud south wind!It brought the rude song and the African's jest;It brought us (oh, shame!) his deep sighs of unrest,When the foot of his master bore hard on his breast; Did the loud south wind.
Oh, the wild south wind!It brought us the murmurs of bitterness first;Then threats of the traitor (forever accursed;)And the hum of a tempest just ready to burst; Did the wild south wind.
Oh, the mad south wind!It brought us the surge of the battle maelstrom;The cracking of rifles, the cannons' deep boom;The crashing of mortars, the thunders of doom; Did the mad south wind.
Oh, the sad south wind!It told us anew the dark story of Cain;Rehearsing, to grieve us, again and again,The groans of the dying, the dirge for the slain; Did the sad south wind.
Oh, the glad south wind!It brings the sweet bugle-note, piercing and strong,Proclaiming the triumph of Right over Wrong;And we lift up our voices to join in the song Of the glad south wind.