The Hill-Wife
From the mountain-top, O Wind, from the mountain-top,
Where thou hast been sleeping, come forth and take flight.
Carry my words to the valley, the green valley below,
Where the children are playing, and the soft breezes blow.
O Wind of the morning, O voice of the dawn,
Wilt thou not leave me and take my soul's fawn?
For I am weary of watching, and weary of tears,
And I long for the slumber, and long for the years.
From the mountain-top, O Wind, from the mountain-top,
Where thou hast been sleeping, come forth and take flight.
Carry my words to the valley, the green valley below,
Where the children are playing, and the soft breezes blow.
O Wind of the morning, O voice of the dawn,
Wilt thou not leave me and take my soul's fawn?
For I am weary of watching, and weary of tears,
And I long for the slumber, and long for the years.