THE ZEPHYR; FRAGMENT by MIRIAM DEL BANCO

In the calm of one summer evening,
Far over the star-lit lea,
And over its soft sweet grasses,
A zephyr came to me;
A zephyr came from the northlands,
Far, far from the realms of snow;
But its breath was as warm as the springtime's,
And it passed over you, I know.

I heard, as it came through the willows,
It's laughter low and sweet;
And it danced through the flower-fringed pathways.
With silvery fairy-feet;
It shook the loose lace curtains,
And played in their fold of white.
And it swayed the slumbering flowrets
That dreamed in the moon-lit night.

I thought, as I sat near the window,
And gazed into starry space,
That, perhaps, its soft warm fingers
Had swept across your face;
That, perchance, for a fleeting moment,
It had rested upon your brow,
In a silent benediction;
Such as I breathed but now.

So backward I flung the curtain,
And I leaned into the air,
That I might feel the zephyr
Sweep back my tangled hair;
I tried to grasp unto me
Its mystic phantom wings;
I tried to hear my sister's voice
Say tender, low voiced things.

It tossed about the ringlets,
And flung them in my face;
It crept into my thin, white sleeve,
And whispered through its lace;
O'er arms and neck and through my hair,
It played a merry game;
But here it died into the night
It seemed to breathe my name.

It seemed to me like ages
Since my sister spoke that word,
I know 'tis but a childish thought,
Which yet, to me, seems right.
That 'twas your voice that spoke my name,
On that sweet summer night.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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