Classic Poem

She sweeps across me like a fragrant wind
Laden with summer and a thousand fruits,
And countless messages of springing shoots,
Even as a gentle woman being blind,
But bearing in her bosom every kind
Of flower, and coloured leaf, and unctuous roots;
And as a fervent noise of answering lutes
Is the Æolian response of my mind
Blown by her spirit into endless song,
Hot with the sense of summer she conveys
From cornfields over which her hand delays
To gather fragrance as she sweeps along,
One with the winds and scents and sounds that throng
The odorous woods and hills on summer days.