Beneath the forest's skirts I rest, <br />Whose branching pines rise dark and high, <br />And hear the breezes of the West <br />Among the threaded foliage sigh. <br /> <br />Sweet Zephyr! why that sound of wo? <br />Is not thy home among the flowers? <br />Do not the bright June roses blow, <br />To meet thy kiss at morning hours? <br /> <br />And lo! thy glorious realm outspread-- <br />Yon stretching valleys, green and gay, <br />And yon free hilltops, o'er whose head <br />The loose white clouds are borne away. <br /> <br />And there the full broad river runs, <br />And many a fount wells fresh and sweet, <br />To cool thee when the mid-day suns <br />Have made thee faint beneath their heat. <br /> <br />Thou wind of joy, and youth, and love; <br />Spirit of the new wakened year! <br />The sun in his blue realm above <br />Smooths a bright path when thou art here. <br /> <br />In lawns the murmuring bee is heard, <br />The wooing ring-dove in the shade; <br />On thy soft breath, the new-fledged bird <br />Takes wing, half happy, half afraid. <br /> <br />Ah! thou art like our wayward race;-- <br />When not a shade of pain or ill <br />Dims the bright smile of Nature's face, <br />Thou lov'st to sigh and murmur still.<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/west-wind-the/
