by George MacDonald.
Originally published in The Argosy (Strahan & Co.) vol.2 #7 (Jun 1866).
"Listen darling, and tell to me
What the murmurer says to thee,
Murmuring 'twixt a song and a moan,
Changing neither tune nor tone."
"Yes, I hear it, far and faint,
Like thin-drawn prayer of drowsy saint;
Like the falling of sleep on a weary brain,
When the fevered heart is quiet again."
"By smiling lip and fixed eye,
You are hearing more than song or sigh:
The wrinkled thing has curious ways—
I want to know the words it says."
"I hear a wind on a boatless main
Sigh like the last of a vanishing pain;
On the dreaming waters dreams the moon,
But I hear no words in their murmured tune."
"If it does not say that I love thee well,
'Tis a senseless, ill-curved, worn-out shell;
If it is not of love, why sigh or sing?
'Tis a common, mechanical, useless thing."
"It whispers of love—'tis a prophet-shell—
Of a peace that comes, and all shall be well;
It speaks not a word of your love to me,
But it tells me to love you eternally."