My heart can tell them, every one,
The messengers of dreams that run
Above the tree-tops in the sun.

Whether of great or little worth
They carry the heart s desires forth
East and west and south and north.

I know the night will close them in ---
And they will meet the tempest s din ---
Ere they come to that far-off inn.

The inn that stands on the bourne of hope,
Where Fear and Delight together cope
For victory on a little slope.

My heart can tell them, every one,
The returning messengers that run
Above the tree-tops in the sun.