Pipes of Passage

IN the gray of earliest dawn,
When the night was not yet gone
But the street-lamps lonely and strange
Burned in a still sea-change,
Over the ghostly ghostly street
I heard the voices passing sweet,
Pipes of passage!

Wings of the summer forth
And the silent throats of the north
Southward southward away
Peopling the ghostly gray,
Over the city’s sleep they ran,
The innumerable caravan,
Pipes of passage!

Over our drowsy heads,
Death-beds and bridal-beds,
Over our human hush,
Swallow and sparrow and thrush,
Over our life, if life be sleep,
Hear my voyagers laugh and weep,
Pipes of passage!