It whispers so strange in my ear,

As if some sad message delaying,

From friends who are absent and dear.

It laughs with the leaves on the tree-tops,

And bows as the cloudlets go by,

And plays with the flowers

For hours and hours,

Yet for me has only a sigh.

O! what is the west wind singing?

’Tis rocking the birds in the nest,

And over the world it is flinging

The emblems of quiet and rest.

New comfort it brings to the mother,

And hushes the babe on her knee,

Singing softly to her

And the tired laborer,

Yet sadly and strangely to me.

O! what is the west wind showing?

New faces look strangely in mine,

Stranger tints in the sunset are glowing,

Somber shadings of amber and wine.

Far away the blue hills seem to beckon

Me back to a sweet cottage home,

Where the rose and the vine

’Round the door-way entwine—

Alas! that from them I must roam!

O! what is the west wind asking?

Why question a stranger like me?

If a friend, why so perfect the masking?

Your counterpart glad would I see.

Ah, a friend in disguise! what is sweeter,

Come, let us together commune,

If you bring but a kiss

From the loved ones I miss,

I can ask of you no greater boon.