O gentle murmuring wind of this June night,
I would, O wind! that thou shouldst bear from me
Some message to my lady o'er the sea.
Take all sweet perfumes with thee for thy flight;
Sigh gently through the failing summer light;
Nor, happy wind, would I begrudge to thee
The right to kiss her face most tenderly;
The face so loved, so distant from my sight.
If from the tides of memory, that roll
In long sad waves, to-night, upon my soul,
Thou wilt bear up some echo of their speech
Unto her ear, then shall she turn, and feel
A tender sorrow through her spirit steal,
For one who toils, yet hath no goal to reach.
