Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Stephen HenryThayer753 The Waiting Chords
H
A maid, scarce knowing that she sang;
The dainty accents from her throat
In undulations lightly rang.
A bird of spring was in her voice;
Till, on through measures deft and fleet,
She caught the ditty of her choice.
Now made her breast with passion stir;
It breathed across her living lyre,
And thrilled the waiting chords in her.
One moment poised the tones on high,
To tell the language of her heart,
And swell the pæan ere it die.
Like storm-winds swept the sounds along;
Her flying fingers in their course
Vied with the tumult of her song.
A glow of triumph flushed her cheek;
No need of words to tell the dream
Of love her lips would never speak.
And all the chords to silence fell,
I knew the spirit lurking there—
The secret that had wrought the spell.