Page:The Spell of the Yukon and Other Verses.djvu/83



A prima-donna in the shining past, But now a mother growing old and gray, She thinks of how she held a people fast In thrall, and gleaned the triumphs of a day.

She sees a sea of faces like a dream; She sees herself a queen of song once more; She sees lips part in rapture, eyes agleam; She sings as never once she sang before.

She sings a wild, sweet song that throbs with pain, The added pain of life that transcends art— A song of home, a deep, celestial strain, The glorious swan-song of a dying heart.

A lame tramp comes along the railway track, A grizzled dog whose day is nearly done; He passes, pauses, then comes slowly back And listens there—an audience of one.