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Or yells at it, or sings, Halfbelieving the brilliant scan Ofripples will carry the fish away On his voice like a buried wind. Or it may be that a fish Is simply lying under The ocean-broad sun Which comes down onto him Like a tremendous, suffusing Open shadow Ofgold, where nothing is, Sinking into the water, Becoming dark around His body. Where he is now Could be gold mixed With absolute blackness. The surface at mid-sea shivers, But he does not feel it Like a breath, or like anything. Yet suddenly his frame shakes, Convulses the whole ocean Under the trivial, quivering Surface, and he is Hundreds offeet away, Still picking up speed, still shooting Through half-gold, Going nowhere. Nothing sees him. One must think ofthis to understand The instinct offear and trembling, And, ofits one movement, the depth. The Heaven ofAnimals Here they are. The soft eyes open. Ifthey have lived in a wood It is a wood. Ifthey have lived on plains Drowning with Others / 78 It is grass rolling Under their feet forever. Having no sows, they have come, Anyway, beyond their knowing. Their instincts wholly- bloom And they rise. The soft eyes open. To match them, the landscape flowers, Outdoing, desperately Outdoing what is required: The richest wood, The deepest field. For some ofthese, It cowd not be the place It is, without blood. These hunt, as they have done, But with claws and teeth grown perfect, More deadly than they can believe. They stalk more silendy, And crouch on the limbs oftrees, And their descent Upon the bright backs oftheir prey May take years In a sovereign floating ofjoy. And those that are hunted Know this as their life, Their reward: to walk Under such trees in full knowledge Ofwhat is in glory above them, And to feel no fear, But acceptance, compliance. Fulfilling themselves without pain At the cycle's center, They tremble, they walk Under the tree, They fall, they are torn, They rise, they walk again. The Heaven ofAnimals / 79 ...

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