Classic Poem

(T HE West W IND .)

From o'er the hills it comes to me,
The clouds pursuing,
With song of bird and drone of bee,
So soft and wooing;

From o'er the woods, thro' shade and sheen,
With fragrance teeming,
From o'er the prairies, wide and green,
And leaves me dreaming.

Across the fields of corn and wheat
In valleys lying,
It seems to sing a message sweet
Of peace undying.

I shout aloud — the wildwoods ring
As they have never —
" Blow, O Wind of the West, and sing
This song forever! "

(T HE West W IND .)

From o'er the hills it comes to me,
The clouds pursuing,
With song of bird and drone of bee,
So soft and wooing;

From o'er the woods, thro' shade and sheen,
With fragrance teeming,
From o'er the prairies, wide and green,
And leaves me dreaming.

Across the fields of corn and wheat
In valleys lying,
It seems to sing a message sweet
Of peace undying.

I shout aloud — the wildwoods ring
As they have never —
" Blow, O Wind of the West, and sing
This song forever! "