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Come, soft winds from far away,

kiss my cheeks and cool my skin.

Evening sings her golden lay,

where my thoughts of her begin.

She walked once where olives grow,

barefoot where the lilies bend—

laughter light, and voice so low,

like the song the swallows send.

Under stars, I called her name,

but the silence answered me.

Still, I feel her—just the same—

in the hush beneath this tree.

Let the night not steal her face,

let the dawn bring back her eyes.

Till she comes, I’ll guard this place

where her soul like perfume lies.