“In dreams she grows not older
The lands of Dream among,
Though all the world wax colder
Though all the songs be sung.”
The latter couplet was repeated, a haunting, yearning, falling melody, that suddenly swelled and rose into the splendid, fulfilling major:
“In dreams doth he behold her
Still fair and kind and young.”
The taller figure on the bridge stirred from a dream. “That is your song, Marcia.”
“Yes,” said the girl, a little away from him in the darkness. “I arranged it for them, to be sung so; in parts.”
“You sang it the first day we really began to know each other.”