154 . Winged Words

THE WINGÈD words, they pass

Still everywhere,

Seeds of the spirit-grass

The dream-winds bear

From that heart-field to this,

Where thought as feeling is;

There’s not a seed will miss

Life, once sown there.

They pass, the faery words,

In shade and shine,

As they were magic birds

This heart of mine

Gave shape and colour to,

As in the light and dew

The primal creatures grew

From germs divine.