I thought I heard Him calling.
Did you hear A sound, a little sound?
My curious ear Is dinned with flying noises, and the tree Goes — whisper, whisper, whisper silently Till all its whispers spread into the sound Of a dull roar.
Lie closer to the ground,
The shade is deep and He may pass us by.
We are so very small, and His great eye,
Customed to starry majesties, may gaze Too wide to spy us hiding in the maze;
Ah, misery! the sun has not yet gone And we are naked:
He will look upon Our crouching shame, may make us stand upright Burning in terror — O that it were night!
He may not come . . . what! listen, list now — He is here! lie closer . . .
Adam, where art thou?
