SWAYING TREE TOPS 



screech and puff, but where shadows 

 play across the meadows. 



Vision being simple sensing, the 

 bird out yonder in the sunlight has 

 it, and every note of song or conver- 

 sation is its effort to reveal the 

 spring. Birds do not always sing, 

 but sometimes talk, and the reason 

 their talk is musical is because they 

 speak of the same things of which 

 they sing. 



I hope robin will forgive me for 

 doubting what he told me the other 

 night after the storm. He knew the 

 spring was here. He sensed it in the 

 tree top. I stood down in the mud, 

 that was my trouble. This morning, 

 which is the realest spring morning 

 yet, is vindication of the robin. Poor 

 mortal that I am my view in the 



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