28 SEPTEMBER 1929, Page 19


She Sings

SHE sings, but still my eyes— The half of me is sight— Her beauty occupies

And inundates with light.

Then wrap me round in dark, Though for her light I long, That all of me may hark To all a world of song.

The melody she sings I and the dark room share ; She plucks the hidden strings Of music in the air.

The sleeping tunes, caressed By her light fingers, wake : Her touch falls on my breast, I tremble for her sake.

My dinning pulses stir A tumult, and confound The soft approach of her With muffled drums of sound.