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Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom.

Let Zephyr only breathe And with her tresses play.

While the wanton Zephyr sings, And in the vale perfumes his wings.

Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly rising o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm.

And soon Their hushing dances languished to a stand, Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon, All on their drooping stems they sink unfanned.

And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest The silver clouds. - John Keats,

Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows.

Lull'd by soft zephyrs thro' the broken pane.

And soften'd sounds along the waters die: Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play.

Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.

The balmy zephyrs, silent since her death, Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath.