Frank Dempster Sherman

The Four Winds

In winter, when the wind I hear,

I know the clouds will disappear;

For 'tis the wind who sweeps the sky

And piles the snow in ridges high.

In spring, when stirs the wind, I know

That soon the crocus buds will show;

For 'tis the wind who bids them wake

And into pretty blossoms break.

In summer, when it softly blows,

Soon red I know will be the rose;

For 'tis the wind to her who speaks,

And brings the blushes to her cheeks.

In autumn, when the wind is up,

I know the acorn's out its cup;

For 'tis the wind who takes it out,

And plants an oak somewhere about.