The Dulcet Pulse-It
True!—you would deem me mad, and so may be;
My ailment sharpened all, and made them keen.
Above the world, I heard a harmony
No mortal ear has heard, or ever seen.
This sound was not of pulse, or drum, or clock,
But of a heart so pure, it sang with grace;
It was a song of love, a holy lock
Upon a soul that found its rightful place.
And so I craved to tear the sound away,
To silence notes that shamed my hollow core.
I smiled, and slew him at the break of day,
And hid the song beneath my chamber floor;
But now I hear it, singing through the wood,
That dulcet-heart, forever understood.
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