Nilsson

A rose of perfect red, embossed With silver sheens of crystal frost, Yet warm, nor life nor fragrance lost.

High passion throbbing in a sphere That Art hath wrought of diamond clear, —A great heart beating in a tear.

The listening soul is full of dreams That shape the wondrous-varying themes As cries of men or plash of streams.

Or noise of summer rain-drops round That patter daintily a-ground With hints of heaven in the sound.

Or noble wind-tones chanting free Through morning-skies across the sea Wild hymns to some strange majesty.

O, if one trope, clear-cut and keen, May type the art of Song’s best queen, White-hot of soul, white-chaste of mien,

On Music’s heart doth Nilsson dwell As if a Swedish snow-flake fell Into a glowing flower-bell.