SPRITE ALONE
Reading edition
Sad is thy voice as the thin cry of the plover On the ridged loam All the chill ghostly night: but when ’tis over Thou shalt hie home. Cease thou to roam When the willow wavers with a whispered warning That on the foam Of his tossed streams doth shine the silver morning; Then rest, rover, And stay, feet. The woe is over, The day flies fleet; The lands and the waters, The dark and the morn Full fairly do meet; Heaven’s sons and daughters Themselves do adorn To wander through the flowery woods, and the sloped fields of corn. 1917.