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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420794" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Singer</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Years since (but names to me before),<br>Two sisters sought at eve my door;<br>Two song-birds wandering from their nest,<br>A gray old farm-house in the West.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How fresh of life the younger one,<br>Half smiles, half tears, like rain in sun!<br>Her gravest mood could scarce displace<br>The dimples of her nut-brown face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wit sparkled on her lips not less<br>For quick and tremulous tenderness;<br>And, following close her merriest glance,<br>Dreamed through her eyes the heart's romance.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Timid and still, the elder had<br>Even then a smile too sweetly sad;<br>The crown of pain that all must wear<br>Too early pressed her midnight hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet ere the summer eve grew long,<br>Her modest lips were sweet with song;<br>A memory haunted all her words<br>Of clover-fields and singing birds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her dark, dilating eyes expressed<br>The broad horizons of the west;<br>Her speech dropped prairie flowers; the gold<br>Of harvest wheat about her rolled.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fore-doomed to song she seemed to me<br>I queried not with destiny<br>I knew the trial and the need,<br>Yet, all the more, I said, God speed?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What could I other than I did?<br>Could I a singing-bird forbid?<br>Deny the wind-stirred leaf? Rebuke<br>The music of the forest brook?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She went with morning from my door,<br>But left me richer than before;<br>Thenceforth I knew her voice of cheer,<br>The welcome of her partial ear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Years passed: through all the land her name<br>A pleasant household word became<br>All felt behind the singer stood<br>A sweet and gracious womanhood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her life was earnest work, not play;<br>Her tired feet climbed a weary way;<br>And even through her lightest strain<br>We heard an undertone of pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unseen of her her fair fame grew,<br>The good she did she rarely knew,<br>Unguessed of her in life the love<br>That rained its tears her grave above.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When last I saw her, full of peace,<br>She waited for her great release;<br>And that old friend so sage and bland,<br>Our later Franklin, held her hand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For all that patriot bosoms stirs<br>Had moved that woman's heart of hers,<br>And men who toiled in storm and sun<br>Found her their meet companion.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our converse, from her suffering bed<br>To healthful themes of life she led<br>The out-door world of bud and bloom<br>And light and sweetness filled her room.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet evermore an underthought<br>Of loss to come within us wrought,<br>And all the while we felt the strain<br>Of the strong will that conquered pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God giveth quietness at last!<br>The common way that all have passed<br>She went, with mortal yearnings fond,<br>To fuller life and love beyond.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fold the rapt soul in your embrace,<br>My dear ones! Give the singer place<br>To you, to her,--I know not where,--<br>I lift the silence of a prayer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For only thus our own we find;<br>The gone before, the left behind,<br>All mortal voices die between;<br>The unheard reaches the unseen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again the blackbirds sing; the streams<br>Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams,<br>And tremble in the April showers<br>The tassels of the maple flowers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But not for her has spring renewed<br>The sweet surprises of the wood;<br>And bird and flower are lost to her<br>Who was their best interpreter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What to shut eyes has God revealed?<br>What hear the ears that death has sealed?<br>What undreamed beauty passing show<br>Requites the loss of all we know?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O silent land, to which we move,<br>Enough if there alone be love,<br>And mortal need can ne'er outgrow<br>What it is waiting to bestow!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O white soul! from that far-off shore<br>Float some sweet song the waters o'er.<br>Our faith confirm, our fears dispel,<br>With the old voice we loved so well!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420794" data-title="The Singer de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="Years since (but names to me before),
Two sisters sought at eve my door;
Two song-birds wandering from their nest,
A gray old farm-house in the West.

How fresh of life the younger one,
Half smiles, half tears, like rain in sun!
Her gravest mood c..."></div>
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