Songs

Arthur Christopher Benson

Speak, speak, music, and bring to me

Fancies too fleet for me,

Sweetness too sweet for me,

Wake, wake, voices, and sing to me,

Sing to me tenderly; bid me rest.

Rest, rest! ah, I am fain of it!

Die, Hope! small was my gain of it!

Song, song take thy parable,

Whisper, whisper that all is well,

Say, say that there tarrieth

Something, something more true than death,

Waiting to smile for me; bright and blest.

Thrill, thrill, string: echo and play for me

All, all that the poet, the priest cannot say for me;

Soar, voice, soar, heavenwards, and pray for me,

Wondering, wandering; bid me rest.

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