The Hill-Winds
Nora Hopper Chesson
1871 to 1906
The hill-winds coming, the hill-winds going,
They have no care for my heavy fret;
I lay my face in the long grass growing,
And dream of Moirin, and half forget
That never a wind in the world is blowing
Her thoughts to my heart that loves her yet.
The hill-winds going, the hill-winds coming,
I take no heed of them all day long —
Though I lie in their heart from dawn to gloaming,
And hark the bees where the clovers throng:
And, O wild bees, that you'd hush your humming:
What comfort is there in comb or song?
The hill-winds fly without care or cumber,
And scent of bean-fields they bring to me,
Where magic flowers without name or number
Are sending dreams where sad sleepers be:
But none so deep as the honeyed slumber
Of Moirin drowned in the Ictian Sea.
Nora Hopper Chesson's The Hill-Winds
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