 | At the holy well |  |
QUICK AND DEAD.
Once the wings of every bird
Lifted me; the songs I heard,
In my breast, full-hearted then,
Wakened answering songs again.
Lifted me; the songs I heard,
In my breast, full-hearted then,
Wakened answering songs again.
Now their wings, that skyward go,
Mock my want; their songs, below,
In my empty bosom, make
Only the dumb silence ache!
Mock my want; their songs, below,
In my empty bosom, make
Only the dumb silence ache!
| At the holy well | |