O leave your hand where it lies cool
    Upon the eyes whose lids are hot: 
Its rosy shade is bountiful
    Of silence, and assuages thought. 
O lay your lips against your hand
    And let me feel your breath through it, 
While through the sense your song shall fit
       The soul to understand.

The music lives upon my brain
    Between your hands within mine eyes; 
It stirs your lifted throat like pain,
    An aching pulse of melodies. 
Lean nearer, let the music pause:
    The soul may better understand 
Your music, shadowed in your hand
       Now while the song withdraws.