All day the rain, the wind all night, no moon,
And new leaves torn and shredded on the ground,
Wild colour drained from all the flowered plain,
The honey scent washed all the stream along,
Beneath the swaying bowing of the trees.
Hawthorn, blackthorn, dripping steel-bright tears,
Weave leaf-dance with the warbled, feathered sound
Of nightingales, their endless lifeblood song.
Watch the wind, if you have eyes to see,
The swirling dark of dancing birdsong hear,
Beneath the falling rain that drives us near,
The empty days that draw us all apart,
And I, I listen day and night; the moon
Will call us all home, woman, bird, too soon.