On me to rest, my bird, my bird:

The swaying branches of my heart

Are blown by every wind toward

The home whereto their wings depart.

Build not your nest, my bird, on me:

I know no peace but ever sway:

O, lovely bird, be free, be free,

On the wild music of the day.

But sometimes when your wings would rest,

And winds are laid on quiet eves:

Come, I will bear you breast to breast,

And lap you close with loving leaves.

[11]

[11]

THE EARTH BREATH

From the cool and dark-lipped furrow breathes a dim delight

Through the woodland's purple plumage to the diamond night.

Aureoles of joy encircle every blade of grass

Where the dew-fed creatures silent and enraptured pass.

And the restless ploughman pauses, turns, and wondering,

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