O, pour upon my soul again
That sad, unearthly strain,
That seems from other worlds to plain;
Thus falling, falling from afar,
As if some melancholy star
Had mingled with her light her sighs,
And dropped them from the skies.
No - never came from aught below
This melody of wo,
That makes my heart to overflow
As from a thousand gushing springs
Unknown before; that with it brings
This nameless light - if light it be -
That veils the world I see.
For all I see around me wears
The hue of other spheres;
And something blent of smiles and tears
Comes from the very air I breathe.
O, nothing, sure, the stars beneath,
Can mould a sadness like to this -
So like angelic bliss.
So, at that dreamy hour of day
When the last lingering ray
Stops on the highest loud to play -
So thought the gentle Rosalie
As on her maiden revery
First fell the strain of him who stole
In music to her soul.
|This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.|