Her voice cut like a knife
Her voice like mournful bells crying on the wind
Her voice was like the voice the stars had when they sang together
Her voice was rich and vibrant, like the middle notes of a 'cello
Her words sounding like wavelets on a summer shore
Herding his thoughts as a collie dog herds sheep
Here and there a solitary volume greeted him like a friend in a crowd of strange faces
Here in statue-like repose, an old wrinkled mountain rose
Hers was the loveliness of some tall white lily cut in marble, splendid but chill
His bashfulness melted like a spring frost