VOICES OF THE AIR
Butthen there comes that moment rareWhen, for no cause that I can find,The little voices of the airSound above all the sea and wind.The sea and wind do then obeyAnd sighing, sighing double notesOf double basses, content to playA droning chord for the little throats—The little throats that sing and riseUp into the light with lovely easeAnd a kind of magical, sweet surpriseTo hear and know themselves for these—For these little voices: the bee, the fly,The leaf that taps, the pod that breaks,The breeze on the grass-tops bending by,The shrill quick sound that the insect makes.1916.
Butthen there comes that moment rareWhen, for no cause that I can find,The little voices of the airSound above all the sea and wind.The sea and wind do then obeyAnd sighing, sighing double notesOf double basses, content to playA droning chord for the little throats—The little throats that sing and riseUp into the light with lovely easeAnd a kind of magical, sweet surpriseTo hear and know themselves for these—For these little voices: the bee, the fly,The leaf that taps, the pod that breaks,The breeze on the grass-tops bending by,The shrill quick sound that the insect makes.1916.
Butthen there comes that moment rareWhen, for no cause that I can find,The little voices of the airSound above all the sea and wind.
The sea and wind do then obeyAnd sighing, sighing double notesOf double basses, content to playA droning chord for the little throats—
The little throats that sing and riseUp into the light with lovely easeAnd a kind of magical, sweet surpriseTo hear and know themselves for these—
For these little voices: the bee, the fly,The leaf that taps, the pod that breaks,The breeze on the grass-tops bending by,The shrill quick sound that the insect makes.
1916.