Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Wind on the Harp-Strings: Poems
I scarce can heed the cuckoo's muf?ed calling, Or note the plaintive Wind's eternal wail Over the hill-top, through the pine-wood falling. A goddess lays her hand upon my heart, Touches its drooping chords with unseen fingers, Till air, sky, ground, Give harmonies of sight, and scent, and sound, To soothe each aching nerve, to heal the smart Where the world's stroke still lingers.
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