Poems (Davidson)/To a Lady whose Singing resembled that of an Absent Sister

by Lucretia Maria Davidson

TO A LADY,

 

WHOSE SINGING RESEMBLED THAT OF AN ABSENT SISTER.

O! touch the chord yet once again,
 Nor chide me, though I weep the while;
Believe me, that deep seraph strain
 Bore with it memory's moonlight smile.

It murmured of an absent friend;
 The voice, the air, 'twas all her own;
And hers those wild, sweet notes which blend
 In one mild, murmuring, touching tone.

And days and months have darkly passed,
 Since last I listened to her lay;
And Sorrow's cloud its shade hath cast,
 Since then, across my weary way.

Yet still the strain comes sweet and clear,
 Like seraph-whispers, lightly breathed;
Hush, busy memory, Sorrow's tear
 Will blight the garland thou hast wreathed.

'Tis sweet, though sad—yes, I will stay,
I cannot tear myself away.

I thank thee, lady, for the strain;
 The tempest of my soul is still;
Then touch the chord yet once again,
 For thou canst calm the storm at will!