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, Wind, I have always loved thee Since those far off nights When I lay beneath the vines A prey to strange delights, For among my tresses Thy soft caresses Were sweet as a lover's to me.

Later thou grewest more wanton, or I more shy, And after the bath I drew my garments close, Fearing thy soft persuasion amongst my hair When thou earnest fresh with the scent of some ruffled rose.

Ah, Wind, thou hast lain with the Desert, I know her savour well, And the spices wherewith she scents her breasts— She who has known such countless lovers Yet rarely borne a city among her sands— Thou comest as one from a night of love, Thy breath is broken and hard,— Bringing echoes of lonely things, Vast and cruel, that the soft and golden sands Buried beneath thin ripples so long ago. 94