As to a bird’s song she were listening, <br />Her beautiful head is ever sidewise bent; <br />Her questioning eyes lift up their depths intent— <br />She, who will never hear the wild-birds sing. <br />My words within her ears’ cold chambers ring <br />Faint, with the city’s murmurous sub-tones blent, <br />Though with such sounds as suppliants may have sent <br />To high-throned goddesses, my speech takes wing. <br /> <br />Not for the side-poised head's appealing grace <br />I gaze, nor hair where fire in shadow lies— <br />For her this world's unhallowed noises base <br />Melt into silence; not our groans, our cries, <br />Our curses reach that high-removed place <br />Where dwells her spirit, innocently wise.<br /><br />Henry Cuyler Bunner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/deaf-4/
