The mother will not turn, who thinks she hears <br />Her nursling's speech first grow articulate; <br />But breathless with averted eyes elate <br />She sits, with open lips and open ears, <br />That it may call her twice. 'Mid doubts and fears <br />Thus oft my soul has hearkened; till the song, <br />A central moan for days, at length found tongue, <br />And the sweet music welled and the sweet tears. <br />But now, whatever while the soul is fain <br />To list that wonted murmur, as it were <br />The speech-bound sea-shell's low importunate strain,— <br />No breath of song, thy voice alone is there, <br />O bitterly beloved! and all her gain <br />Is but the pang of unpermitted prayer.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xlvii-broken-music/
