Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/284

256 Of the human soul forlorn,

Or the beating heart of pleasure.

Thou, sweet girl, didst bring this boon

Without stint or measure!

Many a tune

From the masters of all time

In my waiting heart made rhyme.

III

As the rain on parchèd meadows,

As cool shadows

Falling from the sultry sky,

As loved memories die,

But live again when a well-tunèd voice

Makes with old joy the grievèd heart rejoice,

So came once more with thy clear touch

The melodies I love—

Ah, not too much,

But all earth's natural songs far, far above!

For they are nature felt, and living,

And human, and impassioned;

And they full well are fashioned

To bring to sound and sense the eternal striving,

The inner soul of the inexpressive world,

The meaning furled

Deep at the heart of all—

The thought that mortals name divine,

Whereof all beauty is the sign,

That comes,—ah! surely comes,—at music's solemn call.

"A POWER THERE IS"

there is that trembles through the earth;

It lives in nature's mirth,