The wind beguileth all;
Elusive lisper,
Hear him whisper,—whisper,—whisper,—
Mellow in rise and eloquent in fall!
He plays the lover,
With bird-like poise and dart and hover,
Lipping forevermore a madrigal.
White Janivere, or sapphire June,
Autumnal days, or hour Aprilian,
A golden tune
He breathes, as from the ancient pipes of Pan.

O wandering troubadour,
Ever evasive,
Still penetrant, persistent and persuasive,
I love to lie and listen to your lure!
For now I know the lotused marges
Of the mysterious Nile,
Where, in the time long dead, the deep-oared barges
Moored 'neath the shadow of some kingly pile;
And now I am aware of some fair garden
(Ah, radiant span!)
That hath for warden
The rose of Ispahan;

And now I am transported
By fluctuant melodies
To where the drowsing coral isles are courted
By the warm arms of Austral-Asian seas.

Dawn-flush, noon-languor, eve's purpureal
Pallor behind the hill-crests, if it fall
Upon attunèd ears,—the earth-old call,—
The wind, the minstrel wind, beguileth all!