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| WINDS, whisper gently whilst she sleeps, | |
| And fan her with your cooling wings; | |
| While she her drops of beauty weeps, | |
| From pure, and yet unrivalled springs. | |
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| Glide over Beauty’s field, her face, | 5 |
| To kiss her lip and cheek be bold; | |
| But with a calm and stealing pace; | |
| Neither too rude, nor yet too cold. | |
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| Play in her beams, and crisp her hair | |
| With such a gale as wings soft Love, | 10 |
| And with so sweet, so rich an air, | |
| As breathes from the Arabian grove. | |
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| A breath as hushed as lover’s sigh; | |
| Or that unfolds the morning’s door: | |
| Sweet as the winds that gently fly | 15 |
| To sweep the Spring’s enamelled floor. | |
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| Murmur soft music to her dreams, | |
| That pure and unpolluted run | |
| Like to the new-born crystal streams, | |
| Under the bright enamoured sun. | 20 |
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| But when she walking shall display, | |
| Her light, retire within your bar; | |
| Her breath is life, her eyes are day, | |
| And all mankind her creatures are. | |
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