I shall not need the moon
To find thy trysting-place;
The plovers, late and soon,
O’er it in flight enlace;
Forward and back they fly,
Hearts in eternal hover;
My cry is in their cry,
My heart thy plover.
I shall not need the moon!
No night too dark for me,
Who count thee all my boon,
To watch where thou shalt be!
Backward and forth must Sy
Wings of the heart, and hover—
The bird’s cry is my cry,
My heart thy plover.
Above life’s darkling field,
Moves in unending flight,
Grief, that may not be healed,
To weep upon the night;
Therefore, as time runs by,
Love still must call the lover—
The bird’s cry is my cry,
My heart the plover.
(Dame Mary Gilmore DBE)
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