WERE all the colors of the earth transposed
To sound, that ear, not eye, might sense,
What rich, echoic chords would blend
In cryptic harmonies?
How poignant breathe the distant stars
In silvery orchestration;
What overtones of endless space
Would whisper in polyphonic voices
To the grass?

And that melodic sighing overhead
Is but the diatonic colors
Of an oriole flying;
And that silvery crying in the night
Is only the inarticulate moon
Above the symphonic earth.