In the door of the house of life, Beside the fabled sea, I am a harpstring in the wind, AEolian for thee. It was a cunning idler Who strung the even cords Across the drift of harmonies Impossible to words. It was the old Musician, With nothing else to do, One April when he felt the stir Revive him and renew, Made me thy naught but lover, A frayed imperfect strand Reverberant to every note, Alive beneath thy hand! But smile, and I am laughter; Look sorrow, and I mourn -- A spirit from the cave of fears, Fantastic and forlorn. Sing low -- the world is waiting Such radiance as thine To welcome her returning ships Above the dark sea-line. Rejoice -- I know the cadence, Thou innocent and glad, To make of every hillside flower A dancing Oread. A thing of sense and spirit, And moods and melody, I am a harpstring in the wind, AEolian for thee. |