Invocation to the West Wind
Thou comest from the West-land, O gentle Autumn breeze,
And bearest thou some message from my home beyond the seas?
Hast passed the little cottage where my earthly treasures dwell?
Then stay, O wind, and tell me, “They are happy, they are well.”
Hast seen my little Ada, with her gentle, tender face?
My fiery-souled Helena, and the toddling baby Grace?
Were they playing in the sunshine beside the cottage door?
Or dancing down the pathway that I may tread no more?
Were they seeking spotted pebbles along the rippling rill?
Or gathering red and russet leaves around the low, green hill?
Didst toss the tangled ringlets of each sunny little head?
Were they singing—were they talking? Prithee, tell me what they said.
Ah, no! Thou goest toying with the faded Autumn leaves,
And whispering down the fallow to the shocks of golden sheaves.
For every fern and floweret along the grassy lea
Thou hast a little story, but never a word for me.
And bearest thou some message from my home beyond the seas?
Hast passed the little cottage where my earthly treasures dwell?
Then stay, O wind, and tell me, “They are happy, they are well.”
Hast seen my little Ada, with her gentle, tender face?
My fiery-souled Helena, and the toddling baby Grace?
Were they playing in the sunshine beside the cottage door?
Or dancing down the pathway that I may tread no more?
Were they seeking spotted pebbles along the rippling rill?
Or gathering red and russet leaves around the low, green hill?
Didst toss the tangled ringlets of each sunny little head?
Were they singing—were they talking? Prithee, tell me what they said.
Ah, no! Thou goest toying with the faded Autumn leaves,
And whispering down the fallow to the shocks of golden sheaves.
For every fern and floweret along the grassy lea
Thou hast a little story, but never a word for me.
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