A burst of sudden wings at dawn Faint voices in a dreamy noon, Evenings of mist and murmurings, And nights with rainbows of the moon. And through these things a wood-way dim, And waters dim, and slow sheep seen On uphill paths that wind away Through summer sounds and harvest green. This is a song robin sang This morning on a broken tree, It was about the little fields That call across the world to me. |