Classic Poem

The wind at the casement enters, like a child's soul into the dusk,
With the cool, fresh scent of the garden, a fragrance of roses and musk.

Sing me a song, my love, and plead with the ivory keys
Till the soul of the organ wakes, astir with such visions as these,
While the golden day fades slowly among the garden trees
And I hear the robins coining their hearts upon the breeze.

Sing me a song, my love, of joys more sharp than pain,
The sweet, wild heart of dream athrill in the Autumn rain,
The pleasure that crowns us now, the joy that will find us again.

O love, with the beating and rapture of the spirit of life in your eyes,
Sing low of the passionate yearning, the heart's first faint surmise;
Of the fairy quest, and the capture; the silence, the rapt replies;
Sing softlier, love, sing lower, till the hush on my spirit lies.