Page:Poems Chandler.djvu/51

THE SINGER.

ITHIN the crimson gloom
Of that dim, shaded room
   I heard a singer sing.

She sang of life and death,
Of joys that end with breath,
   And joys the end doth bring;

Of passion's bitter pain,
And memory's tears like rain,
   Which will not cease to flow;

Of the deep grave's delights,
Where through long days and nights
   They hear the green things grow,