Lullaby, Babe of the world, swing high, Swing low. I am a mother you never may know, But oh, And oh, how long the wind will know you, With lullaby for the dead night through. Babe of the earth, as I blow.... Swing high, To touch at the sky, And at last lie low. Lullaby.... HALF THOUGHT When all the leaves of Spring turn gold And the wind has no song, To whom then does the changeling green Belong? And who on what far waveless shore Harps as Spring wind shall harp no more In Winter’s beat and roll? O You, who such forgotten beauties hold, Find some faint loveliness unseen And save it in a soul. TROTH To-day an odour lay upon the air And did not fall from any mortal flower. Deep they won their way within the hour Who laid that odour there. A perfume as of all that cannot give A perfume--ivory and ore, Colour and cloud and pearl and marl; and store Of the wild aroma of cave and hive. It was an inner perfume filtering From other level than the great Midgard; From a far and sphery home full-friendlier starred Where marvels lift light wing. By fragrance, fire and music do we prove The tender contact of a lovelier day, And these fair guarantors gently outray From their far home--these three and also love. BELOVED, IT IS DAYBREAK ON THE HILLS Beloved, it is daybreak on the hills. Dark glimmers and goes out in cloudy light. Faint on the marge of night the watchet dawn Lifts like a lily from a quiet water. And that within me which is consonant Is at its door to meet God’s infinite. O Love, what banner shall we lift? And what Timbrel and incense bear? How shall we greet God’s day, his hills, his fire, and join their beauty? Voices reply that are no voice but breath: “Like beauty be thou nothing save his vesture.” CREDO O you not only worshipful but dear Now have I learned not merely majesty But gentleness and friendlihood to be Your way of drawing near. And late, upon a blue and yellow day, Wandering alone along a hill of Spring I caught another tender summoning, As if you were the comrad of my play. How strange that I have looked so lone and far When it is you, Great Love, who lonely are. How I have sought you in your cosmic leisure When you are eager in my childish pleasure. Why there is no dim doctrine to believe! Only to feel this touching at my sleeve. WHO IS THIS THAT IS SO NEAR? Who is this that is so near? Not a face and not a voice. But a sense of someone here, Or of something not ourselves. At no altar, from no ark---- Is it He? O wonderful In the day and in the dark To behold Him by no eyes.