Death darkens his eyes, and unplumes his wings, Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings: Live so, my Love, that when death shall come, Swan-like and sweet it may waft thee home.
A waft of sweet hash drifted by, and I wanted to float after it like Wimpy levitating at the scent of a hamburger.
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
The flowers never waste their sweetness on the desert air or, for that matter, on the jungle air. In fact, they waste it only when nobody except a human being is there to smell it. It is for the bugs and a few birds, not for men, that they dye their petals or waft their scents.
Ocean into tempest wrought, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly.