The Encounter Through the trees, a soughing, A lowing in the dark— The warm evening like wine. The broad, wide-ranging boughs; Mist blows like salt In the presence of a beast!
The hare in his quickness, Spring is overpowering. Our love discards speed: We drift in the moonlight. The brooding tree resounds, A little more to gather;
Every leaf comes fluttering down, Little still creatures; I love what the wind would collect!

• Ezra Pound