AT NIGHT
Home, home from the horizon far and clear,
Hither the soft wings sweep;
Flocks of the memories of the day draw near
The dovecote doors of sleep.
Oh which are they that come through sweetest light
Of all these homing birds?
Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight?
Your words to me, your words!
Alice Meynell [1850-1922]
SONG
Song is so old,
Love is so new—
Let me be still
And kneel to you.
Let me be still
And breathe no word,
Save what my warm blood
Sings unheard.
Let my warm blood
Sing low of you—
Song is so fair,
Love is so new!