- gentle wind, of western birth On some far summer sea,
Wakes daisies in the wintry earth,
Wakes hopes in wintry me.
The sun is low; the paths are wet,
And dance with frolic hail;
The trees--their spring-time is not yet--
Swing sighing in the gale.
Young gleams of sunshine peep and play;
Clouds shoulder in between;
- scarce believe one coming day The earth will all be green.
The north wind blows, and blasts, and raves,
And flaps his snowy wing:
Back! toss thy bergs on arctic waves;
Thou canst not bar our spring.