Sing me a song, O, Wind, Of musical cadence sweet, Which in the wood around Shall often and oft repeat;
Soft as an angel's song That never can give annoy, Which in the balmy notes Shall tell me its tales of joy.
Sing me a song, O, Wind, Of countries beyond the sea, Which in thy wand'rings oft Thou pass with a footstep free;
Lands that are ever green ‘ Neath blaze of the tropic spells, Bright with their blessed suns, Where summer forever dwells.
Sing me a song, O, Wind, Of groves with a verdure fair, Waving their boughs of green O'er solitudes grand and rare;
Groves with a stillness sweet, With cheering and cooling shades, Where from its cares the race May rest in the leafy glades.
Sing me a song, O, Wind, Of birds with a plumage gay, That with their carols sweet Give praise to the God of day;
Music of sad refrain, Though fond in its tender chime, Thou in thy travels wide Hast heard in a fairy clime.
Sing me a song, O, Wind, Of crystalline brooks at play, Which with the murmurs low Make sweetest of sounds all day;
Winding through meadows wide, And blossoming fields between, Fringed with the willows tall On emerald banks of green.
Sing me a song, O, Wind, Of flowers that are fond and fair, Filling the fields of earth With beauty and fragrance rare;
Wafting an incense pure On every breeze that blows, Drawn from the lily's heart And soul of the royal rose.
Sing me a song, O, Wind, Of man in his brightest homes; Tell if he there meet joy, Wherever his longing roams;
Tell if there's e'er a place Where, all his ambition spent, He toils throughout all his days And knoweth no discontent.
Sing me a song, O, Wind, For I am a-weary now; Life, with its woes and cares, Hangs heavily on my brow;
Sing me a song of cheer, My heart that is sad to ease; Sing in thy brightness and joy With heavenly harmonies!
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