The South Wind

When gently blows the South Wind

First through the Northern Wood,

With eagerness he goeth

where long a tree has stood.

He lifts the leafy cov'ring

that lies close at its base,

and there with sweetest welcome,

looks up his old love's face.

Beneath the snow she waits him

and keeps her leave's brave dress,

Her fair blossom opens

at his first caress.

Each year the flower greets him,

For him, for him alone,

her heart with love's beauty,

through her brief day has shone.