  Blow breezes, fresh breezes, on Love's swiftest wing, And bear her the message my heart dares to sing. Pause not on the highways where gathers earth's dust, Nor in the fair heavens, though cloudlets say must. But blow through the valleys where flowers await To give of their essence ere yielding to fate; Or blow on the hill tops where atmospheres lie Imbued with the health which no money can buy. To bear her the message my heart dares to sing. The breezes, thus ladened, sped on in their flight, As, cradled in hammock, I sang in delight, On that blest summer day in the years long ago, When life was all sunshine and youth all aglow. The sweets of the valleys, the breath of the hills Were gathered—the best that our loved earth distills— As, obedient still to my wish, on they flew To the home of my darling they now so well knew. ****** Alas for the breezes, alas for my heart, Alas for my message, so full of love's art! If only the breezes had followed their will, And loitered among the pure cloudlets so still, They'd have met a fair soul from the earth just set free In search of their help for its message to me; The message my darling, with last fleeting breath, In vain tried to utter, o'ertaken by death. The breezes, fresh breezes, have blown on since then, With messages laden again and again. As for me, I send none. I wait only their will To bring me that message my lone heart to fill. For nothing is lost in pure love's boundless space. |
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