Now at this hour there is no surprise. Nothing intrudes. Nothing betrays. The light - a trembling touch upon each aspect of scene - is the same light That tenderly bloomed through still-transparent nursery walls. While soft but clear On this teeming air - with its indecipherable tangle of tongues - re-sounds a voice One must have known long before speech overtook the song. O long before words Were here at all. To come between.