Nameless pain

In my nostrils the summer wind

Blows the exquisite scent of the rose!

O for the golden, golden wind,

Breaking the buds as it goes,

Breaking the buds,

And bending the grass,

And spilling the scent of the rose!

O wind of the summer morn,

Tearing the petals in twain,

Wafting the fragrant soul

Of the rose through valley and plain,

I would you could tear my heart to-day,

And scatter its nameless pain.