O Wind From the Golden Gate

O Wind From the Golden Gate.
Virginia Bloren Harrison
207.1

Now dies the salt wind-breath of Eastward seas-
And in the quivering leaves of whispering trees
Soft stirs the evening breeze.

From charmed lands, O wind from out the West!
From slumbrous isles by sleeping waves caressed,
Thou bearest on thy breast
The languorous perfume of a thousand flowers,
The garnered sunshine of unnumbered hours,
The spice of Orient bowers.

Thy pinions touch peaks ermined by the snow
And search deep canyons where wild waters flow,
And mighty cedars grow.
Thou art the voice of silent places lone,
That call me day and night-pools shadow strown,
And forest haunts unknown.

Now on thy wide-spread wings bring tranquil rest
And sway the jeweled fringe of dreams, O blest
Sweet wind from out the West!