Page:Poems Storrie.djvu/29

What yearnings pent within us,
 What sweet, yet tragic strains
Find voice in these Æolian harps,
 And tremble through our veins.

For us, the voice that murmurs
 From out the dark-tressed tree,
In silhouette against the faint
 Sky's twilight mystery,

Is an imprisoned spirit,
 That whispers to our own
Oh! softly, softly! as a dream,
 That visions the unknown.

For us, where 'mid the boulders,
 Strewn wide from cliff and scar,
A hand's-breadth space of verdure
 Shines like an emerald star,

And lures a velvet footstep,
 A lissom form to spring
All noiseless from obscurity,
 And browse, none hindering.