THE NOCTURNE

Remote, in some dim room,

On this dark April morning soft with rain,

I hear her pensive touch

Fall aimless on the keys,

And stop, and play again.

And as the music wakens

And the shadowy house is still,

How all my troubled soul cries out

For things I know not of!

Ah, keen the quick chords fall,

And weighted with regret,

Fade through the quiet rooms;

And warm as April rain

The strange tears fall,

And life in some way seems

Too deep to bear!