UNDER-SONG

There is music in the strong

Deep-throated bush,

Whisperings of song

Heard in the leaves’ hush —

Ballads of the trees

In tongues unknown —

A reminiscent tone

On minor keys...

Boughs swaying to and fro

Though no winds pass...

Faint odors in the grass

Where no flowers grow,

And flutterings of wings

And faint first notes,

Once babbled on the boughs

Of faded springs.

Is it music from the graves

Of all things fair

Trembling on the staves

Of spacious air —

Fluted by the winds

Songs with no words —

Sonatas from the throats

Of master birds?

One peering through the husk

Of darkness thrown

May hear it in the dusk —

That ancient tone,

Silvery as the light

Of long dead stars

Yet falling through the night

In trembling bars.