What bird that climbs the cool dim Dawn But loves the air its wild wings roam? And yet when all the day is gone But turns its weary pinions home, And when the yellow twilight fills The 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 fugitive And fleeting music that is You, But echoes of yourself can give As through the waning gold I come To where the Dream and Dreamer meet: Yet should my faltering lips be dumb, I lay these gleanings at your feet!

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