In the grey summer garden I shall find you
With day—break and the morning hills behind you.
There will be rain—wet roses; stir of wings;
And down the wood a thrush that wakes and sings.
Not from the past you’ll come, but from that deep
Where beauty murmurs to the soul asleep:
And I shall know the sense of life re—born
From dreams into the mystery of morn
Where gloom and brightness meet. And standing there
Till that calm song is done, at last we’ll share
The league—spread, quiring symphonies that are
Joy in the world, and peace, and dawn’s one star.