Poems (Jones)/The South Wind
For works with similar titles, see The South Wind.
H, the light south wind!
It brought us the odor of orange bowers,
Of citron-trees, and of all rare flowers,
As we sat by our doors in summery hours;
Did the light south wind.
THE SOUTH WIND.
H, the light south wind!It brought us the odor of orange bowers,
Of citron-trees, and of all rare flowers,
As we sat by our doors in summery hours;
Did the light south wind.
Oh, the sweet south wind!
It brought us the oriole's love-breathing note;
The paroquet's praise of his pretty green coat;
The carols that gush from the mocking-bird's throat;
Did the sweet south wind.
It brought us the oriole's love-breathing note;
The paroquet's praise of his pretty green coat;
The carols that gush from the mocking-bird's throat;
Did the sweet south wind.
Oh, the loud south wind!
It brought the rude song and the African's jest;
It brought us (oh, shame!) his deep sighs of unrest,
When the foot of his master bore hard on his breast;
Did the loud south wind.
It brought the rude song and the African's jest;
It brought us (oh, shame!) his deep sighs of unrest,
When the foot of his master bore hard on his breast;
Did the loud south wind.
Oh, the wild south wind!
It brought us the murmurs of bitterness first;
Then threats of the traitor (forever accursed;)
And the hum of a tempest just ready to burst;
Did the wild south wind.
It brought us the murmurs of bitterness first;
Then threats of the traitor (forever accursed;)
And the hum of a tempest just ready to burst;
Did the wild south wind.
Oh, the mad south wind!
It brought us the surge of the battle maelstrom;
The cracking of rifles, the cannons' deep boom;
The crashing of mortars, the thunders of doom;
Did the mad south wind.
It brought us the surge of the battle maelstrom;
The cracking of rifles, the cannons' deep boom;
The crashing of mortars, the thunders of doom;
Did the mad south wind.
Oh, the sad south wind!
It told us anew the dark story of Cain;
Rehearsing, to grieve us, again and again,
The groans of the dying, the dirge for the slain;
Did the sad south wind.
It told us anew the dark story of Cain;
Rehearsing, to grieve us, again and again,
The groans of the dying, the dirge for the slain;
Did the sad south wind.
Oh, the glad south wind!
It brings the sweet bugle-note, piercing and strong,
Proclaiming the triumph of Right over Wrong;
And we lift up our voices to join in the song
Of the glad south wind.
It brings the sweet bugle-note, piercing and strong,
Proclaiming the triumph of Right over Wrong;
And we lift up our voices to join in the song
Of the glad south wind.