Played ceaselessly the music of the new.

With words of fire it called her,

Beyond the bourne of her days

To a silent sea of joy

Washed by unending twilight-rays.

It called her at dawn

When night shed the star-jewels from her hair;

It called her at sunset

When the moon mutely ascended the heaven's stair.

It called her without ceasing—

Hour after hour but a calling,

Till "Come, come, come!"

At her soul's door kept repeating:

[9]

Come, come, come!—in

Her word, her music, her song;

Far away, near, far again

Heedless of nightfall and dawn.

It called, it cried, it prayed,

Till She, the deity, made answer

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