I often thought there was a soul
Upon the zephyr's wing,
Upon the zephyr's wing,
And oft I thought it seem'd to sigh
As near me hovering,
So tenderly,
So piteously.
Its balmy breath
Was breathed on me,
That oft I thought there was a soul
Upon the zephyr's wing.

It might not be that spirit bland,
Was near me hovering.
Was near me hovering.
But I was glad to think him there,
For I was sorrowing—
So hopelessly.
With love for thee
And tenderly.
It sigh'd with me,
Ajid thus I thought there was a soul
Upon the zephyr's wing.