In curious tongues I am untaught,
Yet I know rest.

I know the sifting oakleaves still
Upon a twilit sky,
I hear the fernowl on the hill
Go wheeling by.

I know my flocks and how they keep
Their tunes of field and fold,
My scholarship can sow and reap,
From green to gold.

The circled stars from down to sea
I reckon as my gains,
The swallows are as dear to me
As loaded wains.

Yet these were ghosts and fugitive,
Until upon your step they came
By revelation's lips to live
In your dear name.

I saw you walking as dusk fell,
And leaves and wains and heaven and birds
Were miracles my blood may tell,
And not my words.

"And yet I would not lose the tidings come
On so dear words, though the blood knows it all,