And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds. [ Keats ]

The balmy zephyrs, silent since her death,
Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath. [ Pope ]

Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe.
That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath. [ Pope ]

And softened sounds along the waters die:
Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play. [ Pope ]

Lulled by soft zephyrs through the broken pane. [ Pope ]

And soon
Their hushing dances languished to a stand,
Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon.
All on their drooping stems they sink unfanned. [ Hood ]

Art needs solitude or misery or passion. Lukewarm zephyrs wilt it. It is a rock-flower flourishing by stormy blasts and in stony soil. [ Alex. Dumas ]