Blue and Purple by Francis Neilson - HTML preview

THE MUSIC OF MY HEART

THE soft night, like a silent child

Before some wondrous thing,

Withholds its breath, as if beguiled

By songs the fairies sing.

It seems to stand and listen, still

As statue in a grove—

Perhaps it hears a fairy trill

A strain Titania wove.

Ah, no, the night hears not her song,

For it would then be glad;

And I have listened here so long,

I know the night is sad.

Now if it be a song that keep

The hour when night should part,

Then night must hear from my soul’s deep,

The music of my heart.