She Is Singing To Thee, _Domine_!

She is singing to Thee, Domine! Dost hear her now? She is singing to Thee from a burning throat, And melancholy as the owl’s love-note; She is singing to Thee from the utmost bough Of the tree of Golgotha where it is bare, And the fruit torn from it that fruited there; She is singing.... Canst Thou stop the strain, The homage of such pain? Domine, stoop down to her again!