At Night

To W. M.
Home, home from the horizon far and clear,
       Hither the soft wings sweep;
Flocks of the memories of the day draw near
       The dovecote doors of sleep.
Oh, which are they that come through sweetest light
       Of all these homing birds?
Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight?
       Your words to me, your words!

Webpage © 2001 ELC
Lane Core Jr. (
Created April 14, 2001; not revised.