An August Midnight

Over the endless fields I walk, as the night dews flow,
Wooed by the boughs of shadowed bowls, And carry the moon whose wings make sound of so— But birds flocks build and cover the beckoning folds.

Under a leaf to catch, one bird in its light— From life’s endless soil breaking still away,
Your calm soothed foliage writhe again while lights abound And heaven’s pale blossoms’ long sways as oh so pray!

• Thomas Hardy