Warm whisp'ring through the slender olive leaves
  Came to me a gentle sound,
  Whisepring of a secret found
In the clear sunshine 'mid the golden sheaves:
Said it was sleeping for me in the morn,
  Called it gladness, called it joy,
  Drew me on -- "Come hither, boy" --
To where the blue wings rested on the corn.
I thought the gentle sound had whispered true, --
  Thought the little heaven mine,
  Leaned to clutch the thing divine,
And saw the blue wings melt within the blue!