Voices of the Air

But then there comes that moment

When, for no cause that I can find,

The little voices of the

Sound above all the sea and wind.

The sea and wind do then

And sighing, sighing double

Of double basses, content to playA droning chord for the little throats—The little throats that sing and

Up into the light with lovely

And a kind of magical, sweet

To hear and know themselves for these—For these little voices: the bee, the

The leaf that taps, the pod that breaks,

The breeze on the grass-tops bending by,

The shrill quick sound that insect makes.