ALL THE FOREST
[In a moan of ecstasy.] Ah!

[And the forest lies as if under a spell; the moonlight is softer, the tender green fire of the glow-worm shines blinking among the moss; on all sides, between the tree-boles creep, shadow-like, the charmed beasts; eyes shine, moist muzzles point toward the source of the music.  The WOODPECKER stands at his bark window, dreamily nodding; all the RABBITS, with uppricked ears, sit at their earthen doors.]

CHANTECLER
When he sings thus without words, what is he singing, Squirrel?

THE SQUIRREL
[From a tree-top.] The joy of swift motion.

CHANTECLER
And what say you, Hare?

THE HARE
[In the coppice.] The thrill of fear!

CHANTECLER
You, Rabbit?

ONE OF THE RABBITS
The Dew!

CHANTECLER
You, Doe?

THE DOE
[From the depths of the woods.] Tears!

CHANTECLER
Wolf?

THE WOLF
[In a gentle distant howl.] The Moon!

CHANTECLER
And you, Tree with the golden wound, singing Pine?

THE PINE-TREE [Softly beating time with one of its boughs.] He tells me that my drops of resin in the form of rosin will sing upon the bows of violins!

CHANTECLER
And you, Woodpecker, what does he say to you?

THE WOODPECKER
[In ecstasy.] He says that Aristophanes—­

CHANTECLER
[Promptly interrupting him.] Never mind!  I know!  You, Spider?

THE SPIDER [Swinging at the end of one of her threads.] He sings of the raindrop sparkling in my web like a royal gift.

CHANTECLER
And you, Drop of Water, sparkling in her web?

A LITTLE VOICE
[From the cobweb.] Of the Glow-worm!

CHANTECLER
And you, Glow-worm?

A LITTLE VOICE
[In the grass.]Of the Star!

CHANTECLER
And you, if one may so far presume as to question you, of what does he
sing to you, Star?

A VOICE
[In the sky.] Of the Shepherd!

CHANTECLER
Ah, what fountain is it—­

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Who is watching the horizon between the trees.] The darkness is lightening.

CHANTECLER What fountain, in which each finds water for his thirst? [Listening with greater attention.] To me he speaks of the Day, which arises and shines at my song!

THE PHEASANT-HEN
[Aside.] And speaks of it so eloquently that for once you will forget it!

CHANTECLER [Noticing a BIRD who having come a little way out of the thicket is beatifically listening.] And how do you, Snipe, translate his poem?

THE SNIPE
I don’t know.  I only know I like it—­It is sweet!

THE PHEASANT-HEN [Who is not lured—­she!—­into forgetting to watch the sky between the branches, aside.] The night is wearing away!