THE MUSIC OF MY HEART
Reading edition
The soft night, like a silent child Before some wondrous thing, Withholds its breath, as if beguiled By songs the fairies sing. It seems to stand and listen, still As statue in a grove— Perhaps it hears a fairy trill A strain Titania wove. Ah, no, the night hears not her song, For it would then be glad; And I have listened here so long, I know the night is sad. Now if it be a song that keep The hour when night should part, Then night must hear from my soul’s deep, The music of my heart.