text: But then there comes that moment rare
  When, for no cause that I can find,
  The little voices of the air
  Sound above all the sea and wind.
  
  The sea and wind do then obey
  And sighing, sighing double notes
  Of double basses, content to play
  A droning chord for the little throats
  
  The little throats that sing and rise
  Up into the light with lovely ease
  And a kind of magical, sweet surprise
  To hear and know themselves for these
  
  For these little voices: the bee, the fly,
  The leaf that taps, the pod that breaks,
  The breeze on the grass-tops bending by,
  The shrill quick sound that the insect makes.