A Song

              As the nightingale takes flight
              On the quiet edges of the morn;
              I saw you rise, out of the dew,
              Reflected in the soft light's adorn.
              
              The white waves cover the stony shore,
              And I whisper to the tide, "more!"
              The winds of change blow through the vale;
              Her song, a fragrant, sweet detail.
              
              O woodland's whisper, where I roam,
              Beneath the shade of kin and clover;
              Where daisies be, and the doves coo warm—
              There in the song, my heart, my home.

• Ivor Gurney