Not idly doth the east wind blow
So cool and whistling clear
Nor do in vain the rains follow
Patt’ring for all to hear

Not quiet is the western wind
When it winds to and fro
It twists and eddies as if twinned
With crooked creeks below

Not bashful is the wind from north
Its biting, frigid breath
With fervor does it sally forth
Along with wintry death

The south wind is, ‘mong them, a boon
That carries warm and welcome air
That sighs on us like to the moon
So free, so kind, and best: so fair