BROKEN MUSIC

The mother will not turn, who thinks she hears

Her nursling's speech first grow articulate;

But breathless with averted eyes elate

She sits, with open lips and open ears,

That it may call her twice.‘ Mid doubts and fears

Thus oft my soul has hearkened; till the song,

A central moan for days, at length found tongue,

And the sweet music welled and the sweet tears.

But now, whatever while the soul is fain

To list that wonted murmur, as it were

The speech-bound sea-shell's low importunate strain,—

No breath of song, thy voice alone is there,

O bitterly beloved! and all her gain

Is but the pang of unpermitted prayer.