Classic Poem

The pouring music, soft and strong,
Some God within her soul has lit,
Her face is rosy with the song
And her grey eyes are sweet with it.

A woman so with singing fired,
Has earth a lovelier sight than this?
Oh he that looked had soon desired
Those lips to fasten with a kiss.

But let not him that race begin
Who seeks not toward its utmost goal;
Give me an hour for drinking in
Her fragrant and her early soul.

To happier hearts I leave the rest,
Who less and more than I shall know,
For me, world-weary, it is best
To listen for an hour and go:

To lift her hand, and press, and part,
And think upon her long and long,
And bear for ever in my heart
The tender traces of a song.