O zephyr white-winged o’er valley and plain
As an ocean air calm over thy dominion wide
Stately thou dwellest with thy mood benign
Upon fevered parts now by thee assuaged.

O peace fair-bosomed, the cherished repose
For my wracked mind to lean in for shelter,
Oh brief haven for my sharp ragged breaths 
Fleeing to rest from the storm and welter.

O hope future’s mirror bright and better,
Thy silver images the heart doth covet
Even if thy shapes only better by a sliver
Than these times by many perils beset.

Oh days as this are rare as Thy better masks,
Only arrive more often to soothe our dusks.