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.