My love, how quiet comes your call;
summoned out, I yearn to come…
How soft your voice, and yet I come,
receptive as a soul to hope:
your every breath arouses hope—
so sounds your soft and quiet call.
My land, how lovely comes your scent
if I but meet you when you stir—
How sweet, so often as you stir,
if roused, I hear you as you speak.
In lull and rise you always speak…
so falls your sweet and lovely scent
My own, how beautiful your sight:
soulful light of cloud and shade…
How gentle hints of colored shade
so summon me to come to see,
to breathe of you, breathe all I see,
so beautiful your gentle sight!
Caelan Rowan McCuen 