Walking when all the ways seemed wondrous still,
I suddenly was ware it was not so:
The silence was a web of sound, below,
Above, that did the earth and heavens fill.
The wood-hid thrush, the field-sparrow's sliding trill,
The dominant insistence of the crow,
The shrill of crickets and the voiceful flow
Where curve the river currents down the hill,
The wind amidst the pines, the far-off calls
Of boys at play, the hayers at their task
With creaking carts, the lowing cows — they all
Were present, like the face behind the mask.
The silence swarmed with noises, nay, was blent
With many musics, for my solacement.