Classic Poem

Made for a Very Light Opera

HE

I awake from a cold dream
To a golden glimmer,
As from a winter stream
A frozen swimmer
Is cast upon banks of honey-flowers and thyme.

SHE

There's a mutter of fear in this cave
And a flutter of wonder,
As the quicksilver fringe of a wave
Is broken to delicate thunder;
And what is the heart of its word?
I am lost; I am near it.

HE

There's a flame in this place
That frightens my pulses,
And the same grace
That a wild sea-gull's is;
And for this thanks, and the sunny sound of this rhyme.

SHE

There's a tower of fire in the air,
And snowflakes falling;
Whence is the sound, and where?
And who is calling?
Is it a ghost? Is it a spirit? Is it a bird?

CHORUS

There's no luck born
In either bosom;
They will pluck the thorn
And crumple the blossom;
But now they are singing, and the sad thing is unheard.