(November 10, 1879 – December 5, 1931 / Springfield, Illinois)

How A Little Girl Sang

Ah, she was music in herself,
A symphony of joyousness.
She sang, she sang from finger tips,
From every tremble of her dress.
I saw sweet haunting harmony,
An ecstasy, an ecstasy,
In that strange curling of her lips,
That happy curling of her lips.
And quivering with melody
Those eyes I saw, that tossing head.

And so I saw what music was,
Tho' still accursed with ears of lead.

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Comments (1)

In that strange curling of her lips, That happy curling of her lips. And quivering with melody Those eyes I saw, that tossing head. great write great 10+++++++++++++++++++++