Hear us, ye winds! From where the north-wind strows
Blossoms that crown 'the King of Wisdom's' Tomb, The
trees here planted bring remembered bloom, Dreaming in
seed of Love's ancestral rose, To meadows where a braver
north-wind blows O'er greener grass, o'er hedge-rose, may
and broom, And all that make East England's field-perfume
Dearer than any fragance Persia grows.
Hear us, ye
winds North, East, and West, and South! This granite
covers him whose golden mouth Made wiser ev'n the Word of
Wisdom's King: Blow softly over Omar's Western herald
Till roses rich of Omar's dust shall spring
From richer dust of Suffolk's rare FitzGerald. |