The Message[3]

So might it brush my cheek with errant wings, So might it speak with thrilling touch and light Of answering eyes, of dim, unuttered things-- A moth from hidden gardens of the night.

So, in a land of hills, where twilight lay, Might come a sudden bird-call to the ear, Across the canyons, faint and far away.... O Heart, how sweet ... half heard and wholly dear.