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!