In the last deep of
night
before the birdsong calls the light,
soft, in the garden shadow,
I watch the dark sea below
and I wait the purple and then the gold
to rise from the waters and lively kiss the land,
where the dew sleeps on the nectar
and the blossom waits to fall;
for Spring is slowed under night
new leaf is cooled on the vine,
the fruit buds rest chilled
and the grass quiet-drinks the dew;
there is no wind in the stillness
and calm-quiet in the gardens and grounds,
but voices drift ‘tween the beats of the heart
and my voice speaks there too;
for ‘tis the hour when the old will die
and the fresh new babe is born,
when the young cry for milk
and songs turn to silk
and the lovers call in dreams across the land;
so before this night is broken
while the quiet will carry my words,
between the moon and the sun
all these miles come undone
and this love song will carry to you
David Hallett |