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.