Messengers

The wind, that gives the rose a kiss
With murmured music of the south,
Hath kissed a sweeter thing than this,
The wind, that gives the rose a kiss
The perfume of her mouth.
The brook, that mirrors skies and trees,
And echoes in a grottoed place,
Hath held a fairer thing than these,
The brook, that mirrors skies and trees,
The image of her face.
O happy wind! O happy brook!
So dear before, so free of cares!
How dearer since her kiss and look,
O happy wind! O happy brook!
Have blessed you unawares!