Across the taut strings of my yearning soul

Pass fingers of all fleet and beautiful things:

Comings of dawn and moonlight glimmerings,

Mid-summer hush and Sabbath bells that toll

Over broad fields, a sound of thrushes' wings

Near sunset hour, a girl with lips apart,

Wonder and laughter,—these have touched my heart

And left their music lingering on its strings.

At twilight of some gray, eventual year,

A few late friends will turn, with trembling breath,

From the raw mound of earth that hides my face....

Yet I shall still find beauty, even in death,

And some lone traveller of the night will hear

An echo of music in that quiet place.