[Pg 22]

 Listening

(Eden, N. Y.)

Atop Aries hill am I,

The lone flyer, throbbing

Against the sunset

Is higher.

He sees more than I,

But he cannot hear

What I hear.

I hear the wood-thrush

And the veery,

Answer each other.

I hear the voices

Of happy children

And the baying of hounds

Float up from the valley;

The chirp of the cricket

At my feet, and, then,

The silence of nightfall.

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