BAY COMBE
WITH leaves below and leaves above,
And groping under tree and tree,
I found the home of my true love,
Who is a wandering home for me.
Who, lost in ruined worlds aloof,
Bore the dread dove wings like a roof:
Who, past the last lost stars of space
Carried the fire-light on her face.
Who, passing as in idle hours,
Tamed the wild weeds to garden flowers;
Stroked the strange whirlwind's whirring wings,
And made the comets homely things.
Where she went by upon her way
The dark was dearer than the day;
Where she paused in heaven or hell,
The whole world's tale had ended well.
With leaves below and leaves above,
And groping under tree and tree,
I found the home of my true love,
Who is a wandering home for me.
