No mortal comes to visit me to-day,
Only the gay and early-rising Sun
Who strolled in nonchalantly, just to say,
' Good morrow, and despair not, foolish one ! '
But like the tune which comforted King Saul
Sounds in my brain that sunny madrigal.
Anon the playful Wind arises, swells
Into vague music, and departing, leaves
A sense of blue bare heights and tinkling bells,
Audible silences which sound achieves
Through music, mountain streams, and hinted
And drowsy flocks drifting in golden weather.
Lastly, as to my bed I turn for rest,
Comes Lady Moon herself on silver feet
To sit with one white arm across my breast,
Talking of elves and haunts where they do
No mortal comes to see me, yet I say
' Oh, I have had fine visitors to-day ! '