AFTER HEARING MUSIC COMING FROM A

Just a little wisp of song played softly in the twilight,

Such a happy little song — and oh, the dusk is gray!

Such a joyous little song, and oh, the night is coming —

Coming with the bitter chill that marks the death of day.

Almost like a dance it is, it holds no hint of sorrow,

Almost like a waltz it is, to set the pulse a-thrill;

Not a hint of tears in it — and oh, the night is coming —

Coming like a purple shroud across the purple hill!

Sad the little farmhouse is, the doors swing on their hinges,

All the windows look like wounds, pitiful and bare,

And a shell has torn a gash in the broken roof of it,

But the music lilts along like a happy prayer.

Do pale ghostly fingers play on a ghostly violin?

( War has swept the countryside of the songs it knew! )

Merry is the little tune — not a wistful questioning —

Merry with a rosy thrill of a dream come true.

Just a little wisp of song played softly in the twilight,

Such a happy little song — and oh, the dusk is gray!

Such a joyous little song, and oh, the night is coming —

Coming with the bitter chill that marks the death of day!