How a Little Girl Sang

 Ah, she was music in herself, 
A symphony of joyousness.
She sang, she sang from finger tips, From every tremble of her dress.
I saw sweet haunting harmony, An ecstasy, an ecstasy, In that strange curling of her lips, That happy curling of her lips.
And quivering with melody Those eyes I saw, that tossing head.
And so I saw what music was, Tho' still accursed with ears of lead.

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