Now that all is gathered in and folded tight,
Wanderers, washing and the wavering light
Of sun that rolls on waves beyond the rim of sight,
Our day begins, our song on every blackbird’s tongue.
Moon-drift silver draws us ever higher
Into hawk sky where he poises on the wire,
Bright and russet-winged, sharp as desire
Your hand, sure as his taloned feet outflung,
Slips into mine as moon and sun bend into one.
Light, soft as feathers falling where the hare has run
Pours gold, and linnet sings, the day is done,
While silver owl-voice flutes, the night is young.
We walk a while, the only sound our feet
On empty lane, beneath the boughs that meet
Over our heads, where blackbird sings so sweet,
And turn for home when his last song is sung.