A gainst the warm green reticence
Of dusk, the drowsy parliaments
Of leaves, a fragile spirit brings
His voice, his wings.

The purport of the stars is in
His breast; he is their paladin:
His lonely cadence flashes white
Before the night.

No stealthy shadows can suppress
That bird's triumphant wistfulness:
He has the starlight to rejoice
His wings, his voice.