The gent’lest winds blow true on hottest days
And lightly break the most oppressive heat.
When, merciless, the sun inflicts his rays
Oh, then the gentle wind doth sing most sweet.

His breezes lift the fi’ry bonds of June,
And soften too the dry nights of July.
‘Tis fleeting, but he always comes home soon,
The wind may leave, but breezes never die.

And still, since he is gone, the sun doth sting.
And worse, for his brief soothing you have known.
Then he returns and to his love you cling
and you are he. Then, you are most alone.

The gent’lest wind heals wounds he hath begot.
To know not cool is never to be hot