Now here is peace for one who knew
The secret heart of sound.
The ear so delicate and true
Is pressed to noiseless ground.
Slow swings the breeze above her head,
The grasses whitely stir;
But in this forest of the dead
No bird awakens her.
Now here is peace for one who knew
The secret heart of sound.
The ear so delicate and true
Is pressed to noiseless ground.
Slow swings the breeze above her head,
The grasses whitely stir;
But in this forest of the dead
No bird awakens her.