TO -.

YOUR fingers o'er the keys were idly straying,

The sunset glow still lingered on your face;

The languor of the early-summer twilight

Like gentle spell had fallen on the place.

A chain of music you were softly weaving,

Long links of melody sank on the air;

With purest voice your inmost heart was telling

The secret of its maiden beauty rare.

Enthralled I bowed before the magic power

Which link by link you wove into the chain.

That golden eve you bound me fast your captive;

Not for the world would I be free again.

H. G. H.