Oh, Boreas! Thine icy wind does blow,

With chilling breath, and painteth land all white,

But yearn I must when cov’ring all is snow.

For sweet Zephyrus’! Blossom-bearing light,

Restless spir’t, thy form now lights the skies,

You stir the seas, then bring me gentle dawn.

From starry bed then does warm Notus rise,

You leave me longing when cold night is drawn—

While rushing mountain stream lays low the fields.

As Eurus, lightning-kissed, commands the day,

Storm of wrath and nature’s might you wield,

Yet tempests part and clear for bright sun’s ray.

Through every gale that shaketh earth and sky,

So shall we stand, my dear; just you and I.