(1591-1674 / London / England)

To The Western Wind

SWEET western wind, whose luck it is,
   Made rival with the air,
To give Perenna's lip a kiss,
   And fan her wanton hair:

Bring me but one, I'll promise thee,
   Instead of common showers,
Thy wings shall be embalm'd by me,
   And all beset with flowers.

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