A third of the way through, today’s quote is from ‘The Host of the Air.’
‘And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night-tide,’ W.B. Yeats.
In the rushes by the bank, she glides,
The swan on the empty lake,
From the gold-tipped points of morning
To the dusk where shadows break,
And she lays her long neck sadly
In the hollow of her wings,
For the tide brings only night time
And the dark, when no bird sings.