What is a summary of the poem "The West Wind" by John Masefield?

A native of
the west, the speaker is well familiar with the climate and environment in his homeland when the
west wind begins to blow. Regarded as the gentlest and most pleasant of all winds, it marks the
departure of the cold winter and the arrival of warm spring.

The speaker is
away from home probably in order to make money. When the west wind reaches his present place, he
turns nostalgic. The fond memories of his homeland are aroused at once. He begins to linger in
those sweet thoughts.

He recalls the beauty of his native place in the month
of April. Birds begin to twitter and there are daffodils blooming here and there. The
"apple orchards" too have blossomed and the air is sweet with the
fragrance of wine. The ground is covered with "cool green
grass," a perfect place to rest. Thrushes fill thewith their melodies.

It appears to him as if the soothing west wind urges him to go back to his
homeland.

"It's April, and blossom time, and white is
the may; 
And bright is the sun brother, and warm is the rain,-- 
Will ye
not come home, brother, home to us again?"

The
images of the idyllic charm of his native land in April begin to haunt his memories further.
While the corn is green, rabbits run around. He pines to bask in the warmth of the sun and feel
the warm rain water. He longs to hear the songs of "larks" and
the buzzing of "bees."

In this season, the
whole nature seems to be in a joyous state at his homeland. But the expressions
tired feet, bruised hearts, and aching
eyes evoke a sense of somberness. The west wind urges the speaker to return
saying,

So will ye not come home, brother, and rest your
tired feet? 
I've a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for aching
eyes."

Finally, the homesick speaker can't resist
himself any more to stay away from his native place and people and makes up his mind to return
home. 

It's the white road westwards is the road I must
tread 
To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for heart and head, 
To
the violets, and the warm hearts, and the thrushes' song, 
In the fine land, the west
land, the land where I belong.