When earth is full of whispers, when
No daily voice is heard of men,
But higher audience brings
The footsteps of invisible things,
When o’er the glimmering tree-tops bowed
The night is leaning on a luminous cloud,
And always a melodious breeze
Sings secret in the weird and charmed trees,
Pleasant ’tis then heart-overawed to lie
Alone with that clear moonlight and that listening sky.
1890-92
Sri Aurobindo, Collected Poems: Songs to Myrtilla