A VALENTINE.
I said to One I loved, "Why art thou sad?"
And he made answer, "There hath been a tune
Long floating round my brain; morn, night, and noon,
With inarticulate cadence making glad,
Yet vexing me, because I could not find
Words sweet enough to set to it, and bind
Its music round about my heart for aye.
Till, musing late above an ancient book,
The window being open, breezes fleet
Lifted the rare old page, and sudden shook
A loose leaf, writ with song, unto my feet:
In these quaint words meth ought lies hid the key
To all those cadences faint struggling round,
Now will I wed them to that melody,
And set my Life to music by their sound;
E'en so I practised them upon my lute
Early and late, yet found they would not suit
Together, though so sweet! and all the strain
Broke into discords! still the strain goes on,
But only angers me, its meaning gone;
Nor will I ever seek to find it words again!
And he made answer, "There hath been a tune
Long floating round my brain; morn, night, and noon,
With inarticulate cadence making glad,
Yet vexing me, because I could not find
Words sweet enough to set to it, and bind
Its music round about my heart for aye.
Till, musing late above an ancient book,
The window being open, breezes fleet
Lifted the rare old page, and sudden shook
A loose leaf, writ with song, unto my feet:
In these quaint words meth ought lies hid the key
To all those cadences faint struggling round,
Now will I wed them to that melody,
And set my Life to music by their sound;
E'en so I practised them upon my lute
Early and late, yet found they would not suit
Together, though so sweet! and all the strain
Broke into discords! still the strain goes on,
But only angers me, its meaning gone;
Nor will I ever seek to find it words again!
February 13.
