AFTER A READING.
97
As a bird when the music within her is yet too intense to
be spoken in song,
That pauses a little for pleasure to feel how the notes
from withinwards throng,
So pauses the laugh at his lips for a little, and waxes
within more strong.
As the music elate and triumphal that bids all things of
the dawn bear part
With the tune that prevails when her passion has risen
into rapture of passionate art,
So lightens the laughter made perfect that leaps from its
nest in the heaven of his heart.
