The trees are voices, the winds are their tongues. The lives of the birds are the wood you hear, The eyes of the rabbits are better than ours, The way they illuminate what’s distant and near. They move like the leaves in the whispering night, In shadow and starlight they’ll make themselves clear. How strange and how beautiful—light, shadow, and flight— In the silence of nature’s own sphere.

• Edna St Vincent Millay