Song: To Her Whose Name

To her whose name,
With its sweet sibilant sound like sudden showers
Splashing the grass and flowers,
I lath set my April heart aflame ;
To her whose face,
The flower and crown of all created things,
Dearer than even Spring's,
Hath been to me a sacrament of grace ;
Whose luminous mind,
Stored with all gladness of the earth and sky,
Hath lightened my sad eye

And made it wise in love which erst was blind ;
Whose voice of pleasure,
Calling to joys as a blithe wedding bell
When ringers ring it well,
Hath tuned my soul to its own happy measure ;
Whose blessed hand,
With its white mystery of fingers five,
Each one a soul alive,
Hath taught me truths no angels understand ;
Whose arms within,
Should she once clasp me to her very heart,
God knoweth we should not part
But live for aye in Heaven's own bliss divine ;
To her, alas,
Who is so near, yet standeth still so far,
Seeing the mortal bar
Betwixt us ever which we cannot pass,
These lines I send
With my heart's tears to-night beseeching her,
Of her dear love more dear,
To be no less to me my sweetest soul and friend.