In their pale beauty past.


IV

No music but the changeless sigh--
That murmur of their own,
That loves not blending in the thrill
Of thine aerial tone.


V

The girl that slumbers at our side
Will dream how they are bent,
That love her even as they love
Thy blessed instrument.


VI

And music, like a flood, will break
Upon the fairy throne
Of her pure heart, all glowing, like
A morning star, alone!


VII

Alone, but for the song of him