A breeze comes past me singing, and a white cloud slow is swinging,
Like a poppy that is parting from a slender hidden stem.

And September dear returning, wakes anew the old, old yearning,
As she weaves from full-blown wattle flower her lustrous diadem;

For the bloom is gleaming yonder, and it lures me on to wander.
O! my Lady of all Beauty, let a single petal fall

From the rose that you are wearing, and I'll break the world's ensnaring
And roam for aye your troubadour, and not a voiceless thrall.

Breeze cease not, with song o'erflowing, seeds of beauty sowing, sowing.
Chase harefooted purple shadows as the light green crops are stirred.

Vows from all my violets taking, thine anemones awaking,
As you woo them with the melodies of billow, tree and bird,

Over beryl ocean hollows, speeding faster than the swallows,
Bear me, dreaming on your pinions, to the fairy islet lone,

Where amid the haunted closes, on a bed of crimson roses,
Lies my Love that I have longed for, sighing sought for, always known.