For Julia Marlowe

Her voice is lovely as a fabled lyre,
And sweet as winds that sing the sea to sleep,
And soft as mermaids sighing, fathoms deep,
And splendid as the singing of a choir,
Glad and melodious as any bird —
A-thrill in song in a leafy tree-top steep,
And memorable as things that make us weep,
As strong as armies when the foe is heard!

Pure music falls and rises in its sound;
It thrills with changing moods, — the Herd-girl's grief,
Viola's mirth, or Juliet's despair;
Deep silence and a stillness fall around
Its golden tone, — as when a rustling leaf
Sends sound and silence through the startled air.