Padraic Colum
THE birds that soar break space
Like heavy bodies hurled!
Not so the birds of night
They move as in a sphere
On which they touch always
How patterned their flight!
The owl, the whippoorwill!
And like volcano's ash
My young love said to me,
"My mother won't mind
And my father won't slight you
For your lack of kind."
And she stepped away from me
And this she did say:
"It will not be long, love,
Till our wedding day."
