Shadows (Howe)/The Song to the Singer

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THE SONG TO THE SINGER
THEY will not know who read and sing
What you and I know who have known
How fair I was that day of spring
 I bade you mould me for your own.

These words which half reveal my soul
 Are how much more to you and me!
Pellucid beauties, clear and whole,
 Behind, around them all we see.

Above this faltering tune that tells
 The measure I must walk within,
For us a sweeter music wells—
 The magic lilt that should have been.

Yet this is better than to die,
 And you had joy of me one day;
Then you are mine, and yours am I—
 Who likes us not may go his way.

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