English poetry

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The Breathing

An absolute
Trees stand
Up to their knees in
Fog. The fog
Slowly flows
Cobwebs, the grass
Leaning where deer
Have looked for apples.
The woods
From brook to where
The top of the hill looks
Over the fog, send up
Not one bird.
So absolute, it is
No other than
Happiness itself, a breathing
Too quiet to hear.

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Poem The Breathing - Denise Levertov