I knew not when the buds had burst;

I only saw the thirsting, panting bees,

And heard the South Wind's soft murmurs

In the rustling leaves and young sprouts of grass,

Whither O, South Wind? Whither?

When my eyes fell on fallen petals strewn

On the mossy mould once full of moss-roses,

I knew the marauding bees had sucked the sweet.

Only the West Wind played with the dead pollens.

Whence O, West Wind? Whence?

Came the rain-clouds in flocks of fleecy puffs

In shapes that hid their future forecast;

But I saw the tops of trees a-bending, quivering;

The East Wind rose like a monarch from the seat of the Sun.

The Quest! O, East Wind! Thy Quest?

Leaves, yellow and sere, shiver, crumble and fall,

Only the bare, gaunt trees’ tremors and moan I hear

Dead dreams of faint, fretful, and forgotten days

Lie athwart on the trail of the North Wind's bleaksome blasts.

The Message! O, North Wind! Thy Message?