It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron priested shore
The morning beckoned with water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net-webbed wall
Myself to set foot that second
In the still sleeping town and set forth
My birthday began with the water birds
And the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose in a rainy autumn
And walked abroad in shower of all my days
High tide and the heron dived
When I took the road over the border
And the gates of the town closed as the town awoke
A springful of larks in a rolling cloud
And the roadside bushes brimming with whistling blackbirds
And the sun of October, summery on the hill's shoulder
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly come in the morning
Where I wandered and listened to the rain wringing wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me
Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea-wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle brown as owls
But all the gardens of spring and summer
Were blooming in the tall tales beyond the border
And under the lark full cloud
There could I marvel my birthday away
But the weather turned around
It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples, pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning, so clearly, a child's forgotten mornings
When he walked with his mother through the parables of sunlight
And the legends of the green chapels
And the twice-told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks, and his heart moved in mine
These were the woods the river and the sea
Where a boy in the listening summertime of the dead
Whispered the truth of his joy to the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide
And the mystery sang alive
Still in the water and singing birds
And there could I marvel my birthday away
But the weather turned around
And the true joy of the long dead child sang burning in the sun
It was my thirtieth Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood
O may my heart's truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning