Alice Cary

April 26, 1820 - 1871


To The Winds

by Alice Cary

Talk to my heart, oh winds --
Talk to my heart to-night;
My spirit always finds
With you a new delight,
Finds always new delight,
In your silver talk at night.

Give me your soft embrace
As you used to long ago.
In your shadowy trysting place,
When you seemed to love me so --
When you sweetly kissed me so,
On the green hills long ago.

Come up from your cool bed,
In the stilly twilight sea,
For the dearest hope lies dead,
That was ever dear to me;
Come up from your cool bed,
And we'll talk about the dead.

Tell me, for oft you go,
Winds, lovely winds of night,
About the chambers low,
With sheets so dainty white,
If they sleep through all the night,
In the beds so chill and white:

Talk to me, winds, and say,
If in the grave be rest;
For, oh, life's little day
Is a weary one at best;
Talk to my heart and say
If death will give me rest.


Copyright 1855
Boston: Ticknor And Fields
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