Dissimulation's oily tongue
Will grace Simplicity, among
Her unsuspecting, trustful throng,
That he may do her greater wrong,
And covertly defile the pure,
Some envied purpose to secure.
HEARTSTRINGS.
The tiny trembling tendons
That twine about the heart,
Are chords that yield a music
Unknown to vocal art.
Though soft the notes are sounded,
Each vibration tells a tale
Of the mellow, winsome sunshine,
Or of fierce, destructive gale.
Though the strings be few in number,
They have compass far beyond
The myriad chords around them,
That are less delicately tuned.
List we softly to the music
As its volumes gently roll,
Varied in their intonation
By the tension of the soul.
Ecstatic measures fill us
With a rapture so profound,
That we fancy heaven's portals
With such harmonies abound.
Each note is rich in meaning,
Each tone is full and clear
To the charming sweet delusion
Of imagination's ear.
If you would hear this music
And be charmed by its tone,
Attune your heart to harmony,
For the music is its own.