IN BOHEMIA.
SONGS THAT ARE NOT SUNG.
Do not praise: a smile is payment more than meet for what is done;
Who shall paint the mote's glad raiment floating in the molten sun?
Nay, nor smile: for blind is eyesight, ears may hear not, lips are dumb;
From the silence, from the twilight, wordless but complete they come.
Songs were born before the singer: like white souls awaiting birth.
They abide the chosen bringer of their melody to earth.
Deep the pain of our demerit: strings so rude or rudely strung,
Dull to every pleading spirit seeking speech but sent unsung;
