The Tempest

Come, teasing wind, we will fly, Seek our heart's desire, you and I; Fit comrade for me, Thou breath of liberty, I sigh for the freedom of your wings. The sea will make us horses for our speed, The fields will give the perfume of their seed, In the woods a sweet rose blowing, We will scatter it in going, And bear the lark up sunward as he sings. Go! we must part, you and I; Not this my heart's desire, so goodbye! Had I thought a moment's madness Had wrought so dire a sadness, My soul had never sorrowed for thy wings. What have the tossing waves found for their play? Have mercy, let the white face hide away! In the fields a harvest dead, In the woods life's promise fled, And the lark is blown seaward as he sings. Far better you were sleeping, O my soul, Than that your coming forth a moment stole From another's heart its rest. Die you silent in my breast And seek in death that answer life denied Lest a dying voice should curse instead of pray, Lest a heart should shadow, blighted of its May, Lest a soul glad of its light Should be plunged in gloom of night, Be in the World's seeing satisfied.