And fevered grief throbbed through my fren-
And beat upon my soul a rhythmed strain,
That echoed in the songs that used to start
Whene'er I touched the lute-strings of my art.
O, sad sweet songs that sorrow keyed to pain,
And timed to dripping heart-blood and the
Of unshed tears, that you and I should part!
That day is gone; I cannot strike the chords
That sobbed of woe they vainly would con-
Nor does my numbed heart quiver neath its
To-day dry eyes scan only empty words,
A soul balmed in content can scarcely feel;
Since comfort stemmed my wounds and still-
ed the songs.
__William Allen White.