Blue wings

Warm whisp'ring through the slender olive leaves

Came to me a gentle sound,

Whisepring of a secret found

In the clear sunshine 'mid the golden sheaves:

Said it was sleeping for me in the morn,

Called it gladness, called it joy,

Drew me on -- "Come hither, boy" --

To where the blue wings rested on the corn.

I thought the gentle sound had whispered true, --

Thought the little heaven mine,

Leaned to clutch the thing divine,

And saw the blue wings melt within the blue!