The Silent Shepherds

I met the shepherds going home When all the earth was still, They trod a pathway pale as foam, That led by Ebbesbourne Hill.

They had no songs at end of day, No laughter in their eyes, Hushed as the cool hushed hills were they And quiet as the skies.

A league, a league of brier in bloom, A league of furze alight From Ebbesbourne Wake to Marlycombe Breathed noon across the night.

The pilgrim stars went down the dark, Their silver roads were long, And in the grass each nestled lark Was but a sleeping song.

Like a gray leaf the windless sky, About the flowering moon, I thought the shepherds passed me by Treading a silent tune.