There are whispers in the mirror—
All “alas” within a sigh
And as the toll is ringing clearer
At last there is a lullaby.
This little cradle rocks to and fro,
And the weeping from inside
Is a terror of long ago—
In the light the old fiends hide.
And in that glow I cover my face,
For perhaps the thing I see
That the glass now will trace
Is a thing that should not be.
Melody…how lonely thou doth seem
When thy echo fades: despair,
Tells all that what we dream
Is an imprisoned prayer.
When thou didst sing we found
Where the free orison meets the sky
There all tomorrows gather round
And the dreams themselves will cry
What tears in that harmony so dear,
Falling, falling to the leaves
To drown the gods who may hear
The heart of he who grieves.'