Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/255

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The waving of the spray in its sweet motion
Is like the flowing of thy graceful hair!
Therefore for these I cherish a devotion,
That more than admiration of the fair.

But most, this lonely day, I'm thrilled and haunted
By this strange murmuring music in the trees—
Of all earth's melody the most enchanted—
This whispering of the leaflets and the breeze;
Oh! I am haunted—haunted by its sweetness;
It is so like thine own low, loving tone—
It fills my ear with music to repleteness,
And fills my soul with harmony alone!

Yes, it is like thy voice, and like it only—
Thy whispering, soothing, and mysterious voice!
It charms me from my sorrow wild and lonely—
My heart at its low murmur doth rejoice;
It seems to whisper my own name unto me,
As thou didst whisper it days long flown—
It seems to call on me and bless and woo rae
With tender dream, and thought, and yearning tone.

Ah! softly move the trees! and toward me bending,
They seem to woo me to their graceful arms;
The music and the motion sweetly blending,
Bewilder and allure me with their charms!
They seem to promise me a time affection,
A pity for my loneliness and grief—
A care, a love, a beautiful protection,
A sleep where weariness may find relief.

The sky is beauty and the air is sweetness—
The shining clouds like billows melt away;
The earth hath robed herself with love's completeness
This rosy, musical, and fragrant day.