Music of Innisfree

I read a poem once and wished I could hear its music. I've been searching for it off and on ever since. I imagine it sounds like sunrise over a field. Not over a lake with waves crashing, seagulls squawking, and sand in my shoes with wind whipped hair. But a morning field.


The eastern sky is showing signs of pink and orange. The warmth of the morning rays just reach my face... ripe and warm and penetrating. Burning off the low hanging fog until it can only be seen in a few depressions in the field and in the shadows. I close my eyes and the trees edging the field shift quietly. There is no cracking of windy trees, but soft rustling. And I hear buzzing - there is a hive just out of view. And I hear birds... small and light and far away with a muffled tweet or trill or warble. I imagine this is the Music of Innisfree.