Frank Dempster Sherman (1860–1916)

I HEARD a sweet voice singing in the night

A tender love-song written years ago,

To ease a poet’s heart of that deep woe

Born of long absence from its dear delight;

And as the music like a bird took flight

Across the shadowed world and vanished so,

I thought of him who wrote it,—did he know

How Time would keep his jewel-lyric bright?

O Poet of to-day, whose heart would sing

Some simple song of love, and sweet words give

To mate the melody that thrills the lute,—

Sing on, nor heed what lips are murmuring

To scorn your art; one perfect song shall live

For love and you long after they are mute!