sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance

as if suddenly the roots I had left behind

Wakening from the dreami

９９ｌｉｂ•neｔ

ng forest there, the hazel-sprig

a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

by the moist half-open darkn９９ｌｉb.nｅtess of the leaves.

cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---

a shout muffled by huge autumns,

climbed up through my conscious mind

Lost in the forest, I broke off a d九_九_藏_书_网ark twig

Something from far off it seemed

deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,

and lifted its whisper to my thirs九九藏书ty lips:

and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent

maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,