Thistle-Down

The thistle-down floats on the air, the air,
    Whenever the soft wind blows,
And the wind can tell just where, just where
    The feathery thistle-down goes.
And it tells the bird in a single word,
    Who whispers it low to the bee;
And they try to keep the mystery deep,
    And none of them tell it to me.
But I know well, though they never will tell,
Where the thistle-down goes when it says "Farewell,"
It floats and floats away on the air,
And goes where the wind goes - everywhere!