From over the alfalfa fields and woods of oak

I hear the evening breeze begin to lift,

to stir itself in soft upheaval and to sift

through countless pebbles as though it had awoke

upon an inland shore and loved its gentle joke

of conjuring for me an ocean, until with yielding thrift

it changes for approach and night about me is adrift

with shifting music of a silken sighing cloak.

All cloaked I am, convinced of presence all around,

give up my ear for detail and for change,

and sway within, by wind possessed, swaying to the sound

of woken, ordered treetops which now the wind doth disarrange.

I thought I was quite self-possessed until that silence broke,

and field and wood and treetop answered, as though a host had spoke.