She sang until she stood, a pure white soul,
⁠Within the open gates of Paradise;
⁠And he, the listener, saw through her clear eyes
Life's loveliness. The warm light downward stole
Through golden hair that made an aureole
⁠For her uplifted face, which lilywise
⁠Rose o'er a leaf-hued gown. Her song did rise
Accordant with a certain ancient scroll,
Whence she had learned it once, with vague regret
⁠For the musician, dead ere she was born.
⁠The harmony he dreamed had been so sweet,
That as he stood in heaven he heard it yet, —
⁠Like God, who in creation's primal morn
⁠Had made earth's melody therewith complete.