Chapters 23
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1 01 - Listening- Read by AC 1:10
Listening by John Frederick Freeman. Read for LibriVox.org by A. Lattice.
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 sweep 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 bow sings on. The night. Pure from the cloud of day is listening.
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2 02 - Listening- Read by ALP 1:08
Listening by John Frederick Freeman. Read for LibriVox.org by Algypug. There is a place of grass with daisies like white pearls, or shiny 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.
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3 03 - Listening- Read by AM 1:07
There is a place of grass, with daisies like white pools, or shining irons 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 sweep 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 sand. Nothing is as it was. The bird on the bow sings on. The night, pure from the cloud of day, is listening.
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4 04 - Listening- Read by BK 1:21
Listening by John Frederick Freeman. Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Gachock.
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.
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5 05 - Listening- Read by DC 1:17
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.
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6 06 - Listening- Read by DL 1:09
Listening by John Frederick Freeman. 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.
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7 07 - Listening- Read by EL0 1:35
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.
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8 08 - Listening- Read by ESA 1:13
Listening by John Frederick Freeman. 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.
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9 09 - Listening- Read by GG 1:16
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.
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10 10 - Listening- Read by GLN 1:17
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.
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11 11 - Listening- Read by KLA 1:26
Arizona 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.
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12 12 - Listening- Read by KS 1:07
Listening by John Frederick Freeman.
There is a place of grass, with daisies like white pools, or shining islands in the sea of brightening waves, swallows darting, brush, the waves a 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.
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13 13 - Listening- Read by LAH 1:09
Listening by John Frederick Freeman. Read for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett.
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.
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14 14 - Listening- Read by LC 0:51
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 in the 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.
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15 15 - Listening- Read by LCW 1:06
Listening by John Frederick Freeman. Read for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson. 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 with gentle green, as though a wide still lake it were, not of 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.
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16 16 - Listening- Read by LS 1:11
There is a place of grass with daisies like white pools or shining islands in a sea of brightening waves. Shallows 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 bow sings on, the night, pure from the cloud of day.
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17 17 - Listening- Read by NB 1:14
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.
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18 18 - Listening- Read by ND 1:06
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.
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19 19 - Listening- Read by PJW 1:19
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.
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20 20 - Listening- Read by PR 1:19
Listening by John Frederick Freeman. Read for LibriVox.org by Patrick Randall. 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.
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21 21 - Listening- Read by QAM 1:28
Listening by John Frederick Freeman. Read for LibriVox.org by Quincy Minor. March 23rd, 2022, Austin, Texas. 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.
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22 22 - Listening- Read by RY 0:48
There is a place of grass, with daisies like white pools, or shining islands in a sea of brightening waves, swallows, starting brush, the waves of gentle green, as though a wide still lake it were, not living grass. Evening draws over all, grass and flowers in sky, and one rich bird prolongs a sweet of day on an 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 stands. Nothing is as it was. The bird on the bough sings on. The night, pure from the cloud of day, is listening.
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23 23 - Listening- Read by SL 1:31
Listening by John Frederick Freeman. Read for LibriVox.org by Susanna Louise.
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.