THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE.
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Hovering, pausing, luring, fleeting,
A farther blue, a brighter mote,
The vanished sound of swift winds meeting,
The opal swept beneath the boat.
A farther blue, a brighter mote,
The vanished sound of swift winds meeting,
The opal swept beneath the boat.
A gleam of wings forever flaming,
Never folded in nest or cote;
Secrets of joy, past name or naming;
Measures of bliss past dole or rote;
Never folded in nest or cote;
Secrets of joy, past name or naming;
Measures of bliss past dole or rote;
Echoes of music, always flying,
Always echo, never the note;
Pulses of life, past life, past dying,—
All these in the song he never wrote.
Always echo, never the note;
Pulses of life, past life, past dying,—
All these in the song he never wrote.
Dead at last, and the people, weeping,
Turned from his grave with wringing hands,—
"What shall we do, now he lies sleeping,
His sweet song silent in our lands?
Turned from his grave with wringing hands,—
"What shall we do, now he lies sleeping,
His sweet song silent in our lands?
"Just as his voice grew clearer, stronger,"—
This was the thought that keenest smote,—
"O Death! couldst thou not spare him longer?
Alas for the songs he never wrote!"
This was the thought that keenest smote,—
"O Death! couldst thou not spare him longer?
Alas for the songs he never wrote!"
Free at last, and his soul up-soaring,
Planets and skies beneath his feet,
Wonder and rapture all out-pouring,
Eternity how simple, sweet!
Planets and skies beneath his feet,
Wonder and rapture all out-pouring,
Eternity how simple, sweet!
