The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
read more

The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep.

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears read more

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills,
And April's in the West wind, and daffodils.

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in read more

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.

Blow, Boreas, foe to human kind!
Blow, blustering, freezing, piercing wind!
Blow, that thy force I may read more

Blow, Boreas, foe to human kind!
Blow, blustering, freezing, piercing wind!
Blow, that thy force I may rehearse,
While all my thoughts congeal to verse!

I hear the wind among the trees
Playing the celestial symphonies;
I see the branches downward bent,
read more

I hear the wind among the trees
Playing the celestial symphonies;
I see the branches downward bent,
Like keys of some great instrument.

Bless the Lord, O my soul. O Lord my God, thou art very great;
thou art clothed with honour read more

Bless the Lord, O my soul. O Lord my God, thou art very great;
thou art clothed with honour and majesty.
Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment: who stretches
out the heavens like a curtain:
Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters: who maketh
the clouds his chariot: who walketh upon the wings of the wind:
Who maketh his angels spirits; his ministers a flaming fire:
Who laid the foundations of the earth, that it should not be
removed for ever.

When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds read more

When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The wind, the wandering wind
Of the golden summer eyes--
Whence is the thrilling magic
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The wind, the wandering wind
Of the golden summer eyes--
Whence is the thrilling magic
Of its tunes amongst the leaves?
Oh, is it from the waters,
Or from the long, tall grass?
Or is it from the hollow rocks
Through which its breathings pass?

Where hast thou wandered. gentle gale, to find
The perfumes thou dost bring?

Where hast thou wandered. gentle gale, to find
The perfumes thou dost bring?