The Four Buglers

In the high halls of morning,
  Where the red dawnlights glow,
On the threshold of sunrise
  Four buglers stand arow,
In the high halls of morning,
  Where the wind-bugles blow.

And ever one or another
  Sends forth a mighty blast,
Till the vaults ring and echo
  With the sound against them cast,
And the red dawnlights shiver
  At the breath sweeping past.

When one sets lip to bugle
  The fishermen go not forth:
When one sets lip to bugle
  The floes come out of the North:
Great is the power of either,
  And who shall weigh their worth?

When one sets lip to bugle
  The lands are eased of drouth:
When one sets lip to bugle
  The birds come back from the South:
And which shall be known for stronger
  When the bugle is to his mouth?

From the four gates of morning
  The sounds of the bugles go,
Each with its freight of summer,
  Tempest or rain or snow;
From the high halls of morning
  Where the red dawnlights glow.