("@3Every tree seems to say, Holy, Holy.@1"— BEETHOVEN) THAT midnight pause, when the deep forest hushes All noise, save when water gushes From unguessed pool hard by the startled step That dares not stay, nor go: The midnight pause when music 'self is but The echo of an agony unheard— A dying doe's cry, or a dying bird: That silence was the well of which he drank. Anon the hidden water sank, Fierce joys and ardours, pride of pomp and tears, Loud fifes, long flute, quick drums Wrangled with graver notes for mastery. Anon the wrangling failed; amid the hushing Boughs of the night was heard again that gushing. A silence deep as darkness, pure as day, With all save one note dying away. Even the wild cries die, even loneliness And pain their ancient notes Diminish and on a tremor die away; And one note, like a bird's singing in the rain, Shakes the wet boughs of the dark—again—again. |