almost time to travel

A migrant song-bird I,
Out of blue, between the sea and the sky,
Landward blown on bright, untiring wings;
Out of the South I fly...
Some irresistible impulse bears me on,
Through starry dusks and rosy mists of dawn,
And flames of noon and purple films of rain;
And the strain
Of mighty winds hurled roaring back and forth,
Between the caverns of the reeling earth,
Cannot bewilder me.
I know I shall see
Just at the appointed time, the dogwood blow
And hear the willows rustle and the mill-stream flow.

-Maurice Thompson, from "Out of the South"