Oh! bring it, and sing it — its notes are tears;
Its octaves, the octaves of grief;
Who knows but its tones in the far-off years
May bring to the lone heart relief?
Yea! bring it, and sing it — a worded moan
That sweeps thro' the minors of woe,
With mystical meanings in every tone,
And sounds like the sea's lone flow.
* * * * *
And the thoughts take the wings of words, and float
Out of my spirit to thee;
But the song dies away into only one note,
And sounds but in only one key.
And the note! 'tis the wail of the weariest wave
That sobs on the loneliest shore;
And the key! never mind, it comes out of a grave;
And the chord! — 'tis a sad "nevermore".
And just like the wavelet that moans on the beach,
And, sighing, sinks back to the sea,
So my song — it just touches the rude shores of speech,
And its music melts back into me.
Yea, song! shrink back to my spirit's lone deep,
Let others hear only thy moan —
But I — I forever shall hear the grand sweep
Of thy mighty and tear-burdened tone.
Sweep on, mighty song! — sound down in my heart
As a storm sounding under a sea;
Not a sound of thy music shall pass into art,
Nor a note of it float out from me.
Parting
Farewell! that word has broken hearts
And blinded eyes with tears;
Farewell! one stays, and one departs;
Between them roll the years.