  TO B. W. B. The world is spinning for change, And life has rapid wings; Oh, one needs a steady heart Not to falter while he sings. But this is made for my Dear One When we are far apart; That she may have wherever she goes A song of mine in her heart. Of something she loves best; A song that will throb at her waking, A song that will lull her to rest. A song that will serve for an anchor, Compass, and pilot, and chart; A song that will bid her remember That love is the crown of art. A song that will bid her remember The north nights cool and still, With the thrushes fluting deep, deep, Deep on the pine-wood hill, With a star at her open window, When the cuckoo wakes with a start: Oh! can she ever forget me With a song of mine in her heart?
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