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Poem by Eleanor Farjeon The Singer I had a holy hour last night. The room her presence made so pure Was shaded in uncertain light, But oh, the light it held was sure. There while about her golden head The shadows and the low light played, She eagerly and softly read The shining songs her soul had made. Flower and shell and sand and sea, And flight of gulls against the sun, And many a friend, and many a tree, And youth begun and age nigh-done, Death and life, and life and death, Divinely in her vision smiled; She spoke them with the silver breath Half of angel, half of child. Upon her bed I lay at rest, But once when kneeling by her chair I leaned my head beside her breast And heard the wordless singing there. Eleanor Farjeon Eleanor Farjeon's other poems:
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