A Song

A hush fell deep, The air became still, I clove the branches,
Untrammelled, waiting for joy.

The weeds formed a home within, Green filaments brushed bright, O, what do the skies say In the dappled moon’s flight?

Leaves whispered secrets,
As they poured in blue streams, Onward the day sauntered, Mirth tints stained through seams.

I sang my furnace spirit,
To flutter with desire, As under the shrouded depths The wood flames sent forth fire!

• T E Hulme