The Nocturne

Remote, in some dim room, On this dark April morning soft with rain, I hear her pensive touch Fall aimless on the keys, And stop, and play again.

And as the music wakens And the shadowy house is still, How all my troubled soul cries out For things I know not of! Ah, keen the quick chords fall, And weighted with regret, Fade through the quiet rooms; And warm as April rain The strange tears fall, And life in some way seems Too deep to bear!