III.

Now listening to a woman's tone, In a wood I sit alone-- Alone because our souls are one;-- All around my heart it flows, Lulling me in deep repose; I fear to speak, I fear to move, Lest I should break the spell I love-- Low and gentle, calm and clear, Into my inmost soul it goes, As if my brother dear, Who is no longer here, Had bended from the sky And murmured in my ear A strain of that high harmony, Which they may sing alone Who worship round the throne.