Messengers

The wind, that gives the rose a kiss With murmured music of the south, Hath kissed a sweeter thing than this,-- The wind, that gives the rose a kiss-- The perfume of her mouth.

The brook, that mirrors skies and trees, And echoes in a grottoed place, Hath held a fairer thing than these,-- The brook, that mirrors skies and trees,-- The image of her face.

O happy wind! O happy brook! So dear before, so free of cares! How dearer since her kiss and look,-- O happy wind! O happy brook!-- Have blessed you unawares!