TO A LADY PLAYING THE HARP

By Paul Laurence Dunbar

Thy tones are silver melted into sound,

And as I dream

I see no walls around,

But seem to hear

A gondolier

Sing sweetly down some slow Venetian stream.

Italian skies — that I have never seen —

I see above.

( Ah, play again, my queen;

Thy fingers white

Fly swift and light

And weave for me the golden mesh of love. )

Oh, thou dusk sorceress of the dusky eyes

And soft dark hair,

‘ T is thou that mak'st my skies

So swift to change

To far and strange:

But far and strange, thou still dost make them fair.

Now thou dost sing, and I am lost in thee

As one who drowns

In floods of melody.

Still in thy art

Give me this part,

Till perfect love, the love of loving crowns.