“But there should be no other lips,” said the bright and charming woman.
“I know there should not, and I hope there may not, but sing it anyway and I will try to be strong and unafraid.”
As Miss Parsons went to the piano, I left the room, left them alone, and as I went out into the twilight, I heard the gentle notes as the light fingers wandered over the keys.
“When other lips and other hearts—”
Came drifting through the trees.
“In language whose excess imparts,”
Was borne upon the breeze.
Ah, hope is sweet and love is strong
And life’s a summer sea;
A woman’s soul is in her song;