when i hear the north wind

it never fails to bring,

reminders of for-get-me-nots

and sunny days in spring.

and o! the east wind carries

upon its scented sail,

the tho’t of pink arbutus

in some secluded vale.

and how i’d like to gather

when winds are in the west,

a brace of orange blossoms

to hold against my breast.

but o! i love the south wind

that breathes across the loam,

for o! the tender south wind

just whispers dear “come home!”