< Tower of Ivory
ECHO
When in the winter of heart's desire
Sirens are dead, and the songs of fey
Jangled and flat on a musty lyre,
What shall we call to-day?
Miracle wrought from a laugh, a kiss,
Mystery, wonder and breath of May,—
How shall our hearts remember this
When it is yesterday?
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is licensed under Creative Commons - Attribution - Sharealike. Additional terms may apply for the media files.