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!