Persistent Music

Lo! what am I, my heart, that I should dare
To love her, who will never love again, —
I, standing out here in the wind and rain,
With feet unsandalled and uncovered hair.
Singing sad words to a still sadder air,
Who know not even if my song's refrain —
"Of sorrow, sorrow! loved, oh, loved in vain! " —
May reach her where she sits and hath no care.

But I will sing in every man's despite;
Yea, too, and love, and sing of love until
My music mixes with her dreams at night;
That when Death says to me, " Lie down, be still!"
She, pausing for my voice, and list'ning long,
May know its silence sadder than its song.