Iv

Oh! burning silence! when the very air Is warm with memories of sounds we love! You cease to sing, yet from below, above, Around me, in me, of me, everywhere, That Music's spirit, tremulously fair Flutters and flutters, like a wounded dove, And cannot fly beyond this earthly groove! Midway it pauses, hanging throbbing there. I will not speak, lest it should seem profane In such a presence; idle words of praise Ye are but mortal sounds, with no refrain That can endure beyond our passing days, And so be silent! silent with the pain Of all deep feeling, that can find no phrase.