Fugitive Music

 

A song floats by upon the breeze,
I try to catch its air;
I know the whispers of the trees,
I know the humming of the bees,
But this, ah this is rare.

There is a murmur in the tides,
A mermaid’s haunting tune;
There is a melody abides
In every star that nightly rides
Attendant on the moon.

But if it were that I should hear
Those fleeting carols plain,
The nature’s mysteries were clear,
And worthless all I now hold dear,
And beauty would be vain!

13. 11. 29