Song: The Winds, As At Their Hour Of Birth
By Alfred Lord Tennyson
The winds, as at their hour of birth,
Leaning upon the ridged sea,
Breathed low around the rolling earth
With mellow preludes, We are free.
The streams, through many a lilied row
Down-carolling to the crisped sea,
Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow
Atween the blossoms, We are free.