By Luis G. Dato
I know not if the songs that from you rise,
Are tuned to pain or mirth,
They are, it seems, some compromise
Of sky and earth.
For from the throat of mortals such as we,
The minions of desire,
Might never surge such harmony
As leaves your lyre.
And I will wonder if the seraphim,
As sweetly could complain,
Since sorrow is unknown to him,
Who knows no pain.
A cadence by the vales and midnight skies,
Upon your songs seems given,
Are you, indeed, some compromise
Of earth and heaven?