Thus for the great, how many wake the string,
Thus for the good, how few the lyre attune.
As soon as I had finished the sonnet, a low and tremulous voice, close to the casement, sung these words:
SONG
Haste, my love, and come away;
What is folly, what is sorrow?
'Tis to turn from, joys to-day,
Tis to wait for cares to-morrow.
O'er the river,
Aspens shiver