Classic Poem

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!