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25
A VIOLIN.
Sweet as the earliest bird the woodland waking,When snows fade softly from the shrouded earth;
Sweet as the whispered love that stills the aching
Of young hearts bidding first adieu to mirth;
Sweet as the pattering rain the parched land slaking,
When night falls cloudily on fields of dearth;
Sweet as the sudden sea on tired eyes breaking
Filled with the terror of the great world's girth;
Sweeter than all things save their own dear sweetness,
The soft notes streaming from thy light-touched strings.
I have not known delight of such completeness
In nightingales nor any bird that sings.
'Tis God's own voice made clear in benediction
To hush earth's loud self-pity in her affliction.
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