The chaplet of bronze.
95
There were fountains,
Green groves, and arbours, in the scene before them,
With what seemed moonlight shimmering over all.
And through one avenue that pierced the distance
A single note came floating.
'Twas a child
That, up the aisle advancing, to the footlamps
Drew near, and with her hands locked carelessly
Sang with a fearless joyfulness. Her voice
Was fresh as May-winds, wilder than the lark
That swoops and circles in its upward flight,
Delirious with music. Scarce the ear
Marked how through labyrinths of song it held
One clue of melody; its notes like pearls
Strung on the silken thread they half concealed.
Her voice was but the sail her happy spirit
Urged to its utmost through the waves of song;
When Marcia sang, each silver arrow sped
True to the mark, but these seemed flung at random;
No bird that sings amid the summer leaves
E'er voiced his spirit with such deep delight;
And when she ceased, and the loud orchestra
Green groves, and arbours, in the scene before them,
With what seemed moonlight shimmering over all.
And through one avenue that pierced the distance
A single note came floating.
'Twas a child
That, up the aisle advancing, to the footlamps
Drew near, and with her hands locked carelessly
Sang with a fearless joyfulness. Her voice
Was fresh as May-winds, wilder than the lark
That swoops and circles in its upward flight,
Delirious with music. Scarce the ear
Marked how through labyrinths of song it held
One clue of melody; its notes like pearls
Strung on the silken thread they half concealed.
Her voice was but the sail her happy spirit
Urged to its utmost through the waves of song;
When Marcia sang, each silver arrow sped
True to the mark, but these seemed flung at random;
No bird that sings amid the summer leaves
E'er voiced his spirit with such deep delight;
And when she ceased, and the loud orchestra
