Why kinder to the breeze than unto me?

For oft you let him play within your hair,

Blow its soft curls about, and find it fair,

The while he whispers low and tenderly

Into your ear; and yet how cold is he!

And loves you not, but only frolics there;

Sometimes I wish I might be turned to air,

And thus be rid of my humanity,

That finds no favour in your haughty eyes.

Were I a breeze you'd fling your windows wide,

And give me welcome, as I swept aside

The curtain, kissing all pride now denies,

Your lips, your cheeks, your eyes, your throat, your breast,

Until with kissing spent I sank to rest.