Ambedo

Tho' not a sound the night shall make

but for a lone owl calling,

as dusk returns to day's sweet wake

and light is softly falling.

My ear, attuned, to know your song

shall listen for such singing 

my spirit lead where I belong;

of land and seashore, mingling.

From man, and man's unkindliness,

of crowd and crowded places. 

I'll furthest be, seen less and less,

far, thus, of nameless faces.

My words upon a salty breeze

with hope that I will follow,

to where you sleep beneath leafless trees

there, sheltered in a hollow.