THE SONG-WIND.

I stand in a climate of spring, Overblown by a wind from the South, With joy unspeakable thrilled, Ineffable song in my mouth; For the wind is a breeze of delight, And its blowing is rhythmic and fleet; It comes from the heart of the South. Oh, the South wind, the song-wind is sweet! It comes like the breath of a dream Blown through the still regions of sleep; It comes from the islands of love, Lying midmost the tropical deep; It has the fresh smell of sea-grass, It is woven of coolness and heat, Fruit-flavored and burdened with spice. Oh, the South wind, the song-wind is sweet! It stirs the high tops of the trees, With greenness and fragrance o'erfraught, Through which the swift sun-glories glance Like flashes of wonderful thought; It touches the rose till it burns Like love in a heart made complete; It kisses the world into flower. Oh, the South wind, the song-wind is sweet! A breath of all ages it is, From Teos, and Lesbos, and Ind; Through the years, like a shuttle of gold, Runs the wonder of song on the wind— The wonder of flute and of lyre, A music made mellow and meet For Sappho, the princess of song. Oh, the South wind, the song-wind is sweet! O Sappho! O love-laden soul! A thrill in the rushes there is, And the sea breaks into loud song That throbs with the pulse of the breeze; And singers, remembering thee, Cast their crowns and their lyres at their feet, For the South wind rewakens thy song. Oh, the South wind, the song-wind is sweet! It blows with a rustle of palms And a sound of the laurel and bay, Far voices and clapping of hands, Like applause at the end of a play: It strengthens the poet like wine, And clothes him from head unto feet In the power and glory of life. Oh, the South wind, the song-wind is sweet! It lifts the gold hair of a girl Till it shines in the sun like a flame, It flows through the locks of a man Toiling hard at his song and his fame; It is heavy with music of birds; It has whispers no lips can repeat: The angels float by on its tide. Oh, the South wind, the song-wind is sweet! Ah, world! while the South wind prevails— With flowers and rushes and streams, Intrude not a sound of thy wheels, But leave me alone with my dreams— My reveries born of this breeze; And my life, though lowly it be, Will be happier far than a king's If the South wind, the song-wind kiss me! James Maurice Thompson.