  The high barn’s lit by many a guttering flare Of flickering candle, dangerous—(hence forbidden)— To warm soft straw, whereby the cold floor’s hidden, On which we soon shall rest without a care. War is forgotten. Gossip fills the air Of home, and laughter sounds beyond the midden Under the stars, where Youth makes Joy unchidden Of gods or men, and mocks at sorrow there. But hark! what sudden pure untainted passion Seizes us now, and stills the garrulous? A song of old immortal dedication To Beauty’s service and one woman’s heart. No tears we show, no sign of flame in us This hour of stars and music set apart. |
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