I heard your song, before the sun arose, Soar to heaven, not like an eagle, though Each note silhouetted against the warm sky; As you compose, Then gracefully flutter to earth, murmuring Like brooklets flow -- Then whispering like the summer breeze Scented with fragrance from apple-blossom trees, Aroused in me thoughts of love That were buried in forgotten lore, Sprung to life once more; And upon its glittering, silvery trance I stood With closed eyelids; in solemn reverence Also reviewed the cruel workings of chance. The flight of your song ended Into these lines blended. |