As to a birds song she were listening,
Her beautiful head is ever sidewise bent;
Her questioning eyes lift up their depths intent
She, who will never hear the wild-birds sing.
My words within her ears cold chambers ring
Faint, with the citys murmurous sub-tones blent,
Though with such sounds as suppliants may have sent
To high-throned goddesses, my speech takes wing.
Not for the side-poised head's appealing grace
I gaze, nor hair where fire in shadow lies
For her this world's unhallowed noises base
Melt into silence; not our groans, our cries,
Our curses reach that high-removed place
Where dwells her spirit, innocently wise.
