Wind of the summer noon,
Wind of the hills,
Gently the hand of June
Stays thee and stills.
Far off, untouched by tears,
Raptures or ills,
Sleeps he a thousand years
Out on the hills.
Wind of the summer noon,
Wind of the hills,
Is the land fair and boon
Whither he wills?
V
Wind of the gulfs of night,
Wind of the sea,
Where the pale streamers light
My world for me,--
Breath of the wintry Norns,
Frost-touch or sleep,--
He whom my spirit mourns
Deep beyond deep
To the last void and dim
Where ages stream--
Is there no room for him
In all this dream?