Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/19

 O, more than I can bear, I feel, intense, the throb Of some rich inward music gush That comes out in a sob.

For am I not—alas, The quick days come and go— A weak and songless instrument Through which the song-breaths pass? I would a heart might know, I would a hand might free These wondrous melodies up-pent And languishing in me.

A sharp strange music smote The night.—In yon recess The shrouded harp from all its strings Gave forth a piercing note: