The breeze that stirs in yonder tree
And the young roses rocks to sleep,
Wafts to my mind the memory
Of a young Zephyr who would sweep
Across the land with fellows gay,
Winged with the wind like them, and bent
On fond adventure, who one May
(O wine of spring, O golden day!)
Traversed a castle's battlement,
And on the terrace, spinning there,
He found a child divinely fair,
(O lovely maid with sun-kissed hair!)
Swift drawing from an ivory loom
A thread more soft than gossamer.
Her eyes were bluer in his sight
Than the enchanted azure mere
Which on that morning in his flight
His wings had grazed, and crystal-clear.
And as he loosed a golden strand
From her dear head, she raised a hand
And looked and laughed, and brushed it back
So sweet, so chaste, so debonair,
That the young Breeze, who had no lack
Of conquests in the heights above
Among the damsels of the air,
And danced a pirouette with Love,
Felt that his heart was held for e'er
By that sweet child divinely fair,
(O sea-blue eyes, O sun-kissed hair!)
Whose lily hands were spinning there
A weft more soft than gossamer.
Surely no tale beneath the sun
More dainty could or stranger be,
Than how that maid a lover won
Whose countenance she could not see.
He was content unknown to stir
About the spinner and the loom,
And, as he could not bring to her
The trees and flowers all abloom,
He wafted shoals of butterflies
With wings of silver to her room.
Blue, red and golden butterflies
He blew into her hair, and then
When she caressed them with her eyes,
In fury drove them out again.
The scent of new-mown hay he brought
That peasants garner in the fields,
And marjoram and meadow-sweet
And every fair the garden yields
In all the pleasant realm of France:
Forget-me-nots and rosemary
And orange-blossoms from Provence.
These and full many perfumes rare
He ravished from the summer air
For his young love divinely fair,
(O sea-blue eyes, O sun-kissed hair!)
Smiling, and spinning at the wheel
The weft more soft than gossamer.
Full beakers of the sunshine gold
He dashed in winter on her cheeks;
And, in the sultry summer night,
Cool snow-drifts from the mountain peaks.
When over courtly tale she pored
By pious monk or poet sage,
He stood behind the lady's chair,
Unbeckoned oft, to turn her page.
And, when the lovely maiden slept
Within her satin-curtained bed,
He would caress her honeyed locks
And call sweet blessings on her head.
And in the watches of the night
Once, in an ecstasy of bliss,
He breathed upon her dimpled mouth
The thing that mortals call a kiss.
Alas! One day from Aquitaine,
Upon an ebon-colored mare,
Rode proudly to the castle's gate
A gallant noble, young and fair.
And he was smitten with great love
(O sea-blue eyes, O sun-kissed hair!)
When he beheld the lady there
Spinning a bridal gown more white
And softer still than gossamer.
He gave her pearls her throat to grace,
And bracelets for her tender wrist;
How can the sweetest breeze prevail
O'er ruby ring and amethyst?
When it was known that she would wed
The fair young lord from Aquitaine,
The Zephyr lashed the castle wall,
And day and night he sobbed in pain.
He murdered every rose there bloomed
That none might deck her bridal train.
When came that office most divine
He beat, in impotent despair,
Against the chapel's holy shrine,
And from the chalice drank the wine.
When for the bride divinely fair
(O sea-blue eyes, O sun-kissed hair!)
In rich brocade and satin shoon
And veils more soft than gossamer,
The bells intoned a marriage rune,
He flew into the sexton's face
Until they jangled out of tune.
Then to the desert wild he sped,
Heart-broken, anguished and alone.
Before his rage the camels fled,
The turbaned merchants feared his moan.
He raced across the glacial seas
With the great cyclones of the world;
And, ever waxing, angrily.
Both beast and bird before him whirled.
At last, still panting from the race,
Back to fair France he turned his face
To break the castle's granite tower,
And of its splendor leave no trace.
But lo! within the creaking walls
That he had entered to destroy,
He found, more frail than any flower
And fairer far, a baby boy.
Infinities of love and trust
Within the mother's eyes he read,
And trembled lest he harm one hair
Upon the infant's golden head.
He pined away in one sweet breath,
Content to find both peace and death
Beside the mother still more fair,
(O sea-blue eyes, O sun-kissed hair!)
Patiently smiling, spinning there
A baby's gown of gossamer.
And the young roses rocks to sleep,
Wafts to my mind the memory
Of a young Zephyr who would sweep
Across the land with fellows gay,
Winged with the wind like them, and bent
On fond adventure, who one May
(O wine of spring, O golden day!)
Traversed a castle's battlement,
And on the terrace, spinning there,
He found a child divinely fair,
(O lovely maid with sun-kissed hair!)
Swift drawing from an ivory loom
A thread more soft than gossamer.
Her eyes were bluer in his sight
Than the enchanted azure mere
Which on that morning in his flight
His wings had grazed, and crystal-clear.
And as he loosed a golden strand
From her dear head, she raised a hand
And looked and laughed, and brushed it back
So sweet, so chaste, so debonair,
That the young Breeze, who had no lack
Of conquests in the heights above
Among the damsels of the air,
And danced a pirouette with Love,
Felt that his heart was held for e'er
By that sweet child divinely fair,
(O sea-blue eyes, O sun-kissed hair!)
Whose lily hands were spinning there
A weft more soft than gossamer.
Surely no tale beneath the sun
More dainty could or stranger be,
Than how that maid a lover won
Whose countenance she could not see.
He was content unknown to stir
About the spinner and the loom,
And, as he could not bring to her
The trees and flowers all abloom,
He wafted shoals of butterflies
With wings of silver to her room.
Blue, red and golden butterflies
He blew into her hair, and then
When she caressed them with her eyes,
In fury drove them out again.
The scent of new-mown hay he brought
That peasants garner in the fields,
And marjoram and meadow-sweet
And every fair the garden yields
In all the pleasant realm of France:
Forget-me-nots and rosemary
And orange-blossoms from Provence.
These and full many perfumes rare
He ravished from the summer air
For his young love divinely fair,
(O sea-blue eyes, O sun-kissed hair!)
Smiling, and spinning at the wheel
The weft more soft than gossamer.
Full beakers of the sunshine gold
He dashed in winter on her cheeks;
And, in the sultry summer night,
Cool snow-drifts from the mountain peaks.
When over courtly tale she pored
By pious monk or poet sage,
He stood behind the lady's chair,
Unbeckoned oft, to turn her page.
And, when the lovely maiden slept
Within her satin-curtained bed,
He would caress her honeyed locks
And call sweet blessings on her head.
And in the watches of the night
Once, in an ecstasy of bliss,
He breathed upon her dimpled mouth
The thing that mortals call a kiss.
Alas! One day from Aquitaine,
Upon an ebon-colored mare,
Rode proudly to the castle's gate
A gallant noble, young and fair.
And he was smitten with great love
(O sea-blue eyes, O sun-kissed hair!)
When he beheld the lady there
Spinning a bridal gown more white
And softer still than gossamer.
He gave her pearls her throat to grace,
And bracelets for her tender wrist;
How can the sweetest breeze prevail
O'er ruby ring and amethyst?
When it was known that she would wed
The fair young lord from Aquitaine,
The Zephyr lashed the castle wall,
And day and night he sobbed in pain.
He murdered every rose there bloomed
That none might deck her bridal train.
When came that office most divine
He beat, in impotent despair,
Against the chapel's holy shrine,
And from the chalice drank the wine.
When for the bride divinely fair
(O sea-blue eyes, O sun-kissed hair!)
In rich brocade and satin shoon
And veils more soft than gossamer,
The bells intoned a marriage rune,
He flew into the sexton's face
Until they jangled out of tune.
Then to the desert wild he sped,
Heart-broken, anguished and alone.
Before his rage the camels fled,
The turbaned merchants feared his moan.
He raced across the glacial seas
With the great cyclones of the world;
And, ever waxing, angrily.
Both beast and bird before him whirled.
At last, still panting from the race,
Back to fair France he turned his face
To break the castle's granite tower,
And of its splendor leave no trace.
But lo! within the creaking walls
That he had entered to destroy,
He found, more frail than any flower
And fairer far, a baby boy.
Infinities of love and trust
Within the mother's eyes he read,
And trembled lest he harm one hair
Upon the infant's golden head.
He pined away in one sweet breath,
Content to find both peace and death
Beside the mother still more fair,
(O sea-blue eyes, O sun-kissed hair!)
Patiently smiling, spinning there
A baby's gown of gossamer.