After She Sang

Some weird and sacred sorcery Makes music's self appear to be Au unexistent dream, apart From you, your life, and singing hcart. Strange bits of fitful moods of sound Are in your aspects interwound, Your attitudes and movements own An oversoul of time and tone. Brief notes of rhythmlc light ariee Through the blue shadows in your eyes, Your eaeh inbreathing seems to be A draught of silent meiody. The room tbat holds your heart seems hung, With tapestries your soul has sung. A soft and gentie radiance falls From where your voice glows on the walls. And f here your harmonies have fhone A quiet warmth stiH lingera on, Like sunshine on an evening lawn, After your living self is gone.