A speaker stands in a grassy meadow as evening falls. Daisies look like white pools or small islands, and swallows dart so low over the grass that it seems they are skimming water. At first, the scene is bright and lively, but gradually a hush takes over. One bird keeps singing as darkness gathers, as if holding onto the last sweetness of the day. The grass dims, stars appear, and the trees seem to be listening with all their leaves, barely breathing. By the end, nothing feels the same as before. Yet the bird sings on, and the night itself seems alert and attentive. There is a quiet sense of wonder here, as though the speaker is being drawn into a deeper kind of attention. The speaker does not explain this change; he simply notices it, watching the world settle into darkness and feeling that the night is listening back.
Listening — Summary
There is a place of grass With daisies like white pools, Or shining islands in a sea Of brightening waves.
Swallows, darting, brush The waves of gentle green, As though a wide still lake it were, Not living grass.
Evening draws over all, Grass and flowers and sky, And one rich bird prolongs the sweet Of day on the edge of dark.
The grass is dim, the stars Lean down the height of heaven; And the trees, listening in all their leaves, Scarce-breathing stand.
Nothing is as it was: The bird on the bough sings on; The night, pure from the cloud of day, Is listening.