Against the bare and branchless wood.
Say, croons it not, so low and clear,
As if it understood?"

I listened to the branchless pole
That held aloft the singing wire;
I heard its muffled music roll,
And stirred with sweet desire:

"O wire more soft than seasoned lute,
Hast thou no sunlit word for me?
Though long to me so coyly mute,
Sure she may speak through thee!"

I listened; but it was in vain.
At first, the wind's old, wayward will
Drew forth the tearless, sad refrain:
That ceased, and all was still.

But suddenly some kindling shock
Struck flashing through the wire: a bird,
Poised on it, screamed and flew; the flock
Rose with him, wheeled, and whirred.

Then to my soul there came this sense:
"Her heart has answered unto thine;
She comes, to-night. Go, hie thee hence!
Meet her: no more repine!"

Mayhap the fancy was far-fetched;