Classic Poem

O WINDS that blow across the sea,
— What is the story that you bring?
Leaves clap their hands on every tree
— And birds about their branches sing.

You sing to flowers and trees and birds
— Your sea-songs over all the land.
Could you not stay and whisper words
— A little child might understand?

The roses nod to hear you sing;
— But though I listen all the day,
You never tell me anything
— Of father's ship so far away.

Its masts are taller than the trees;
— Its sails are silver in the sun;
There's not a ship upon the seas
— So beautiful as father's one.

With wings spread out it flies so fast
— It leaves the waves all white with foam.
Just whisper to me, blowing past,
— If you have seen it sailing home.

I feel your breath upon my cheek,
— And in my hair, and on my brow.
Dear winds, if you could only speak,
— I know that you would tell me now.

My father's coming home, you'd say,
— With precious presents, one, two, three;
A shawl for mother, beads for May,
— And eggs and shells for Rob and me.

The winds sing songs where'er they roam;
— The leaves all clap their little hands;
For father's ship is coming home
— With wondrous things from foreign lands.