(To J. W. H.)

O wind that tosses free The children’s hair; Scatters the blossom of Apple and pear; Blow in my heart, touch me, Gladden me here.

You have seen so many things-- Blow in and tell Tales of white sand and golden ’Gainst the sea swell. Bring me fine meadow-thoughts, Fresh orchard smell.

Here we must stare through glass To see the sun-- Stare at flat ceilings white Till day is done: While you, sunshine, starshine, May out and run.

Blow in and bring us all Dear home-delight-- Green face of the Spring earth, Blue of deep night. Blot each of our faces From the others’ sight.