Beyond a hill and a river, Within a tower of stone, A Princess by a casement Dreamed, sitting still, alone.
Her golden hair hung heavy Over her kirtle green; Her eyes were blue and lonely, Her tender mouth had been
A joy for splendid kisses, It was so red, so red; But it was parted in singing, And, beginning her song, she said:
“Three songs in my spirit: Elusive, tremulous, light. If you can feel their tremor, This gift is spended aright.”
Without in the silent garden The sunflowers dozed in the sun, Bees blackened their tawny faces, Their heads drooped one by one.
Amid a stilly fig-tree, Hidden from sun and sight, A nightingale sang over The songs that rejoice the night.
And browsing upon sweet grasses In the fair solitude, Half in sun, half in shadow, A lordly bay stag stood.
Upon earth all was silent Save when the hid bird sung; In the dark blue afternoon heavens A silent half-moon hung.
As she commenced singing, The nightingale stopped. In the dead Silence the leaves flicked softly; The great stag turned his head.
Thus sung she alone, and only The stag, the fig-tree, the bird And pensive moon in the darkling heavens Her lovely singing heard.
And as she finished singing, She bowed her golden head Low, O low, on her shaking bosom, And, ending her song, she said:
“Three songs in my spirit: Elusive, tremulous, light. You have felt their tremor; This gift is spended aright.”
The nightingale lifted her voice up, The moon fled out of the skies, The fig-tree split, and two tears rolled Out of the great stag's eyes.
Now, when she had done singing, She closed her eyes, and her breath Went out as she lay down backward And folded her hands in death.
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