Sits still, almost invisible
On leafed and lichened stem,
Its sign of being at home
There in its given place, and well.
The warbler with its quivering striped throat
Would live almost beyond my sight,
Almost beyond belief,
But for its double note-
Among the high leaves a leaf,
At east, at home in the air and light.
And I, through woods and fields, through fallen days
Am passing to where I belong:
At home, at ease, and well,
In Sabbaths of this place
Toward which I go from song to song.