Penance

“WHY do you sit, O pale thin man, At the end of the room By that harpsichord, built on the quaint old plan? —It is cold as a tomb, And there’s not a spark within the grate; And the jingling wires Are as vain desires That have lagged too late.”

“Why do I? Alas, far times ago A woman lyred here In the evenfall; one who fain did so From year to year; And, in loneliness bending wistfully, Would wake each note In sick sad rote, None to listen or see!

“I would not join. I would not stay, But drew away, Though the winter fire beamed brightly . . . Aye! I do to-day What I would not then; and the chill old keys, Like a skull’s brown teeth Loose in their sheath, Freeze my touch; yes, freeze.”

“I LOOK IN HER FACE” (SONG: Minor)

I LOOK in her face and say, “Sing as you used to sing About Love’s blossoming”; But she hints not Yea or Nay.

“Sing, then, that Love’s a pain, If, Dear, you think it so, Whether it be or no;” But dumb her lips remain.

I go to a far-off room, A faint song ghosts my ear; Which song I cannot hear, But it seems to come from a tomb.