IT'S a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries; <br />I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes. <br />For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills. <br />And April's in the west wind, and daffodils. <br /> <br />It's a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine, <br />Apple orchards blossom there, and the air's like wine. <br />There is cool green grass there, where men may lie at rest, <br />And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the nest. <br /> <br />"Will ye not come home brother? ye have been long away, <br />It's April, and blossom time, and white is the may; <br />And bright is the sun brother, and warm is the rain,-- <br />Will ye not come home, brother, home to us again? <br /> <br />"The young corn is green, brother, where the rabbits run. <br />It's blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and sun. <br />It's song to a man's soul, brother, fire to a man's brain, <br />To hear the wild bees and see the merry spring again. <br /> <br />"Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the green wheat, <br />So will ye not come home, brother, and rest your tired feet? <br />I've a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for aching eyes," <br />Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries. <br /> <br />It's the white road westwards is the road I must tread <br />To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for heart and head, <br />To the violets, and the warm hearts, and the thrushes' song, <br />In the fine land, the west land, the land where I belong.<br /><br />John Masefield<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-west-wind/
