THE WIND

Cometh the Wind from the garden, fragrant and full of sweet singing —

Under my tree where I sit cometh the Wind to confession.

“Out in the garden abides the Queen of the beautiful Roses —

Her do I love and to-night wooed her with passionate singing;

Told I my love in those songs, and answer she gave in her blushes —

She shall be bride of the Wind, and she is the Queen of the Roses!”

“Wind, there is spice in thy breath; thy rapture hath fragrance Sabaean!”

“Straight from my wooing I come — my lips are bedewed with her kisses —

My lips and my song and my heart are drunk with the rapture of loving!”