* TAILPIECE *

At turn of night the wild geese fly

And waken drowsy wonder

Beneath their wingèd thunder;

Then silence falls again,

Until the homing barn-owls cry

And ring with hollow laughter,

From ivy-tod and rafter,

The farm upon the plain.

The lark’ s aloft, a bead of gold;

While yet the earth lies darkling,

His little body’ s sparkling:

The sun has risen for him.

A dotted track on dew-grey fold

The weary fox is leaving;

I hear the plovers peeving;

The morning star grows dim.