Poems (Kimball)/The Singer

by Harriet McEwen Kimball

For works with similar titles, see Singer.

THE SINGER.

SHE sits and sings in the room below,
A tender ballad of love and woe
Wedded to music plaintive and slow.

And who would dream that her heart is gay,
While she singeth so sad a lay—
Seeming to pour her soul away?

Why not? She doeth her heart no wrong;
Lips joy-laden the whole day long
Well can afford to sorrow in song!

So keep her, Heaven! nor let her know
Other sighings than those that flow,
Rhythmic, through ballads of love and woe.