"A Tree Telling of Orpheus,"  by Denise Levertov

Perhaps he will not return.
                        But what we have lived
comes back to us.
              We see more.
                        We feel, as our rings increase,
something that lifts our branches, that stretches our furthest
                                        leaf-tips
further.
    The wind, the birds,
                        do not sound poorer but clearer,
recalling our agony, and the way we danced.
The music!