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A poem by Eugene Field |
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The Wind |
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Title: The Wind Author: Eugene Field [More Titles by Field] (THE TALE) Cometh the Wind from the garden, fragrant and full of sweet singing-- "Out in the garden abides the Queen of the beautiful Roses-- "Wind, there is spice in thy breath; thy rapture hath fragrance Sabaean!" "Straight from my wooing I come--my lips are bedewed with her kisses--
The Wind he loveth the red, red Rose,
Cometh the Wind from the garden, bitter with sorrow of winter. "Wind, is thy love-song forgot? Wherefore thy dread lamentations?" Sigheth and moaneth the Wind: "Out of the desolate garden "Thy breath that was fragrant anon with rapture of music and loving, The Wind maketh ever more moan and ever it giveth this answer:
The Wind he waileth the red, red Rose [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |