Till a sunbeam straight like a finger
Struck sharp through the leaves at you.
And a bird overhead sang “Follow,”
And a bird to the right sang “Here”;
And the arch of the leaves was hollow,
And the meaning of May was clear.
I saw where the sun’s hand pointed,
I knew what the bird’s note said;
By the dawn and the dew fall anointed,
You were queen by the gold on your head.