SWAYING TREE TOPS 



moon makes beautiful this valley 

 foam as it billows and mantles all 

 in concealment. 



The progress of the vapory tide is 

 stayed at last. There are no longer 

 any mountains. They have become 

 islands in the sea of silver white. 

 Just at the edge of the island on 

 which I stand, from the trees which 

 border the beach, a mocking bird trills 

 into the night. 



[139] 



