Between Flights
When I think beauty has ended, in my heart, for ever,
When I fold my hands and say: ‘So let it be:
I will sit by the fire now, apart from all endeavour.’
Suddenly on the sky I see—wild geese!
Winnowing through the chill heights of twilit air.
Suddenly beauty comes again, brimming back to me,
Beauty—and peace.
Then I feel wing-stir anew, and lands of summer
Swimming under my eyes that turn from wintry-fallen years.
Who will look up and listen to a heart soon to grow number,
But still stung by wild beauty to tears?
When I fold my hands and say: ‘So let it be:
I will sit by the fire now, apart from all endeavour.’
Suddenly on the sky I see—wild geese!
Winnowing through the chill heights of twilit air.
Suddenly beauty comes again, brimming back to me,
Beauty—and peace.
Then I feel wing-stir anew, and lands of summer
Swimming under my eyes that turn from wintry-fallen years.
Who will look up and listen to a heart soon to grow number,
But still stung by wild beauty to tears?
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