Overhead the tree-tops meet, <br />Flowers and grass spring 'neath one's feet; <br />There was nought above me, and nought below, <br />My childhood had not learned to know: <br />For what are the voices of birds <br />—Ay, and of beasts,—but words—our words, <br />Only so much more sweet? <br />The knowledge of that with my life begun! <br />But I had so near made out the sun, <br />And counted your stars, the Seven and One, <br />Like the fingers of my hand: <br />Nay, I could all but understand <br />Wherefore through heaven the white moon ranges, <br />And just when out of her soft fifty changes <br />No unfamiliar face might overlook me— <br />Suddenly God took me!<br /><br />Robert Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/overhead-the-tree-tops-meet/
