A Sonnet

The silence of the evening swells to sound,
As though in blindness I could see more clear,
And far-off traveling cars so close hum round
I halfway think that Far is very near.
There is a fragile something forming by,
A shadow of some substance that I know.
I sense a step, a movement soft and slow,
And then an almost breath or pausing sigh,
Till calm again regains its awful hold,
Replacing sound with nothing I can hear.
Then through the bushes—You! out-leaping bold!
And dark and dim and deafness disappear!
So blindly, now, I grab you in my arms!
Yet quietly I kiss your happy charms!

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