They Are Taking the Old Piano

They're taking the old piano, They're lifting it from the floor. A carrier's cart is waiting Outside the old home door.

And Mother is mutely watching With tears on her faded cheek; I wonder of what she's thinking, Her heart is too full to speak.

Perhaps of the day he brought her, When out from a wreathed arch There rang from the old piano Bright bars of a bridal march.

Or maybe when long years after It wailed the dead march in Saul, As slowly he went for ever Enwrapped in funeral pall.

I know by her pain drawn features How tightly it's chords entwine, I know the piano corner To her is a wasted shrine.