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The Scarlet Gown - being verses by a St. Andrews Man by Robert F. (Robert Fuller) Murray
page 9 of 75 (12%)
Speak not a word: let all your voices cease.
Let me but hear some soft harmonious strain,
And I shall die at peace.

Music entrances, soothes, and grants relief
From all below by which we are opprest;
I pray you, speak no word unto my grief,
But lull it into rest.

Tired am I of all words, and tired of aught
That may some falsehood from the ear conceal,
Desiring rather sounds which ask no thought,
Which I need only feel:

A melody in whose delicious streams
The soul may sink, and pass without a breath
From fevered fancies into quiet dreams,
From dreaming into death.




FAREWELL TO A SINGER


ON HER MARRIAGE

As those who hear a sweet bird sing,
And love each song it sings the best,
Grieve when they see it taking wing
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