The South Wind
by Charles Ives

When gently blows the South Wind
First through the Northern Wood,
With eagerness he goeth
where long a tree has stood.

He lifts the leafy cov’ring
that lies close at its base,
and there with sweetest welcome,
looks up his old love’s face.

Beneath the snow she waits him
and keeps her leave’s brave dress,
Her fair blossom opens
at his first caress.

Each year the flower greets him,
For him, for him alone,
her heart with love’s beauty,
through her brief day has shone.