WIND OF THE WEST

I bear the banner of the sun at noon; I light the million jewelled lamps of June; I weave, from sky and purple sea below, The rosy cradle where a baby moon Rocks in the after-glow. Awake ye bells, shine out ye stars of Spring; And let the music of the wild wood ring; Deck my dear harp anew with golden green— My ancient forest harp, whereon I sing Of all this budding scene. A song of rainbows gleaming on the rain; Of sap and scent and sunlight come again; Of the young laughing year’s unmeasured mirth; Of quickened Nature’s mother-pang, whose pain Forewent this vernal birth.