She sang until she stood, a pure white soul,
Within the open gates of Paradise;
And he, the listener, saw through her clear eyes
Life's loveliness. The warm light downward stole
Through golden hair that made an aureole
For her uplifted face, which lilywise
Rose o'er a leaf-hued gown. Her song did rise
Accordant with a certain ancient scroll,
Whence she had learned it once, with vague regret
For the musician, dead ere she was born.
The harmony he dreamed had been so sweet,
That as he stood in heaven he heard it yet, —
Like God, who in creation's primal morn
Had made earth's melody therewith complete.