SHE opened her moist crimson lips to sing;
And from her throat that is so white and full
The notes leaped like a fountain. A smooth lull
Was o'er my heart: as when-a viol-string
Having been broken-the first musical ring
Once over, all the rest is but a dull
Crude dissonance, howe'er thou twist and pull
The sundered fragments. A most weary thing
It is within the perished heart to seek
Pain, and not find it, but a clinging pall
Like sleep upon the mind. The mere set plan
Of life then comes, and grief that is not weak
Because it has no tears. Life's all-in-all
Was certainly at end when this began.