Then she knelt on the mantle of satin,
And plunged a long look in his eyes:
She knelt on the mantle of scarlet,
And kissed him on mouth and on eyes,
And mingled her soul with his sighs.
And then in a moment she knew it,--
He deemed her a part of his dream;
And she smiled and she said, "I am Music!
And thy soul--'twas my spirit that drew it,
Thy soul, with a mystical gleam,
A brightness, a glimmer, a gleam."
X
And he gazed at her strangely; and, sobbing,
Cried out, "Yea; thy harp!--is it strung?
Thy harp of wild gold, is it strung?
With fingers of silver set throbbing
Its chords with that song thou hast sung,
So oft in my dreams thou hast sung."