Poems (Allen)/The Singer

by Elizabeth Chase Allen

For works with similar titles, see Singer.

THE SINGER.

N this world, so wide and lonesome,
 One dear friend have I,—
One whose loving presence cheers me
 Under every sky:
Never Cares, nor pain, nor sorrow
 Comes when she is nigh;—
 Who so blest as I?

She has neither wealth nor station,
 Gems nor precious things;
She has only long, fair tresses,
 And most glorious wings;
She can neither strive nor labor:
 What of that? she sings,—
 Wondrously she sings!

Once, as wearily we wandered
 Over moor and plain,
Up the hills and down the valleys,
 In the sun and rain,
Said I, softly, "Let some other
 Hear this marvellous strain,
 Else you sing in vain.

"Sing until the deaf ones listen,—
 Sing and win a name;
Sing till human hearts, awakened,
 Yield you all you claim;—
Sing and make the worldlings wonder,
 Angel, sing for Fame!
 Prithee sing for Fame!"

Then she tried a simple measure,
 Faint and quivering;
But her sweet voice failed and trembled,
 Till, poor timid thing!
All the wise ones sneered and whispered,
 And she would not sing,—
 No, she would not sing.

Then I said, "We two are friendless,
 Poor and unconsoled;
I am growing sad and hungry,
 Weary, faint, and cold:
Since you will not sing for Glory,
 Angel, sing for Gold,—
 Prithee sing for Gold!"

So the throng stood still and listened
 With expectant ears;
But the sweet-voiced singer faltered,
 Full of doubts and fears,
And the soul-enchanting music
 Failed in sobs and tears,—
 Bitter sobs and tears!

"Fairer than a morning blossom,
 Gentler than a dove,
Purer than the sky when Hesper
 Bares his brow above,—
Since you crave not Gold nor Glory,
 Angel, sing for Love,—
 Prithee sing for Love!"

Then she sang, O most divinely
 With no pause or that,—
Sang until the best and proudest
 Lent an eager ear:
But the true soul of her music
 Only one can hear,—
 One alone can hear!