This was the way

The sparrows singing in the tree -
I was the song they sung.
I was the rippling notes as they
Rose high above me to the sun,
And hovered
And fell back again,
To whence they had begun.

I also was the clean, fresh air,
The drowsy stillness of the dawn,
The sparkling grass,
The whispering leaves,
The single feather on the breeze.
They were of me, and I of them,
And this was the way it had always been.