(An Organ-stop.)
O soft, caressing sound, more sweet than scent
Of violets in woody hollows! Tone
As amorous as the ring-dove’s tender moan
Beneath the spreading forest’s leafy tent;
What mystery of earth or air hath lent
Thee that bewitching music, where the drone
Of Summer bees in dewy buds new blown
With trembling, fainting melody is blent?
What master did conceive thee, as the sound
Most fit to woo his lady from her rest,
What wakeful maiden in thy wooing found
The passion of her lover first exprest,
And from her silken pillows, beauty-crowned,
Stept forth and smiled on him who loved her best?
_November 10th, 1875._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]