How a Little Girl Sang

Ah, she was music in herself,

A symphony of joyousness.

She sang, she sang from finger tips,

From every tremble of her dress.

I saw sweet haunting harmony,

An ecstasy, an ecstasy,

In that strange curling of her lips,

That happy curling of her lips.

And quivering with melody

Those eyes I saw, that tossing head.

And so I saw what music was,

Tho’ still accursed with ears of lead.