A SONG.
TO B. W. B.
The world is spinning for change,
And life has rapid wings;
Oh, one needs a steady heart
Not to falter while he sings.
But this is made for my Dear One
When we are far apart;
That she may have wherever she goes
A song of mine in her heart.
A song that will move with a memory
Of something she loves best;
A song that will throb at her waking,
A song that will lull her to rest.
A song that will serve for an anchor,
Compass, and pilot, and chart;
A song that will bid her remember
That love is the crown of art.
A song that will bid her remember
The north nights cool and still,
With the thrushes fluting deep, deep,
Deep on the pine-wood hill,
With a star at her open window,
When the cuckoo wakes with a start:
Oh! can she ever forget me
With a song of mine in her heart?