What bird that climbs the cool dim DawnBut loves the air its wild wings roam?And yet when all the day is goneBut turns its weary pinions home,And when the yellow twilight fillsThe lonely stretches of the West,Comes down across the darkened hills,Once more to its remembered nest? And I who strayed, O Fond and True,To seek that glory fugitiveAnd fleeting music that is You,But echoes of yourself can giveAs through the waning gold I comeTo where the Dream and Dreamer meet:Yet should my faltering lips be dumb,I lay these gleanings at your feet!
