Coming in music from earth, but not unto earth
returning.

Dust are the blood-red hearts that beat in time
to these measures,
Thou hast taken them back to thyself, secretly,
irresistibly
Drawing the crimson currents of life down, down,
down
Deep into thy bosom again, as a river is lost in
the sand.

But the souls of the singers have entered into
the songs that revealed them,--
Passionate songs, immortal songs of joy and
grief and love and longing:
Floating from heart to heart of thy children, they
echo above thee:
Do they not utter thy heart, the voices of those
that love thee?

Long hadst thou lain like a queen transformed by
some old enchantment
Into an alien shape, mysterious, beautiful, speech-
less,
Knowing not who thou wert, till the touch of thy
Lord and Lover
Working within thee awakened the man-child to
breathe thy secret.
All of thy flowers and birds and forests and flow-