Afterwards

SHE opened her moist crimson lips to sing;

And from her throat that is so white and full

The notes leaped like a fountain. A smooth lull

Was o'er my heart: as when—a viol—string

Having been broken—the first musical ring

Once over, all the rest is but a dull

Crude dissonance, howe'er thou twist and pull

The sundered fragments. A most weary thing

It is within the perished heart to seek

Pain, and not find it, but a clinging pall

Like sleep upon the mind. The mere set plan

Of life then comes, and grief that is not weak

Because it has no tears. Life's all—in—all

Was certainly at end when this began.