A Homing Song

Turn your eyes to me, turn your heart to me, 
Out of the trouble of daily things! 
Out of your labour your love-thoughts start to me 
Homing surely as if they had wings. 
Out of the grimy and garrulous mart to me 
Birds that home to my heart that sings. 

Birds that home through the world of cages 
To the free sweet heaven where love is light, 
Come through the crowd that clamours for wages. 
Kestrel and pyat and crow and kite — 
Here is the place by the hurrying ages 
Sought and missed, between day and night. 

Winds are wild when they're loosed from tether. 
But the wind that blows you to me is kind, 
Home to me through the rougher weather 
Tossed with storm or with rain made blind. 
Home to my heart and there together 
Nestle, my birds, and be glad of night 
That sets the wrongs of the long day right.