The sun like a centaur leaping the ranges
Shoots to the heart my garden, shatters
The dew in a volley of wild carillons
And glittering birdsong breaks and scatters.
I love to madness these autumn mornings
When the sky goes high and the trees are taller,
When bellbird and thrush are delirious drunkards
With the magpie, the masterful morning-caller.
Then our window’s an eye on the dawn of creation
Light stirring the mist and the maze of beginning
On the dew on the grass, before footprint or serpent,
And a world from its womb into wakefulness winning.
So it was at your summons my sombre spirit
Burst from its dungeon-keep cold and narrow,
You who beside me inhale this dawning,
You are that messenger, you the arrow
Sent so precisely to stir and startle
My slumber of selfhood gross and towering –
I bless you with all my heart’s abandon
My importunate light, oh my autumn flowering.