When the Wind comes up the lane
And you go down—
The elms their spacious branches swing,
The hidden hedgelings sing and sing,
The nettle draws aside his sting
And kindly weeds their shadows fling
Across your sunny gown;—
When the Wind comes up the lane
And you go down.
When the Wind comes up the lane
And you go down—
Your tresses, for a gusty space,
Discover all your merry face
And the Wind drops with pinioned grace
To kiss the small white forehead place
Above your summer brown;—
When the Wind comes up the lane
And you go down.