So did I to pluck out my heart,
And lo, it throbbed and sung,
And at the hurt o’ loosing o’ the heart
A song wert born.
That, however, is but a pretty play of fancy upon things within our ken, however shadowy and evanescent she may make them by her touch. But in the poem which follows she touches on the border of a land we know not:
I’d greet thee, loves of yester’s day.
I’d call thee out from There.
I’d sup the joys of yonder realm.
I’d list unto the songs of them
Who days of me know not.