In the outer Court I was singing,Was singing the whole day long;From the inner chamber were ringing Echoes repeating my song.
And I sang till it grew immortal;For that very song of mine,When re-echoed behind the Portal,Was filled with a life divine.
Was the Chamber a silver round Of arches,whose magical art Drew in coils of musical sound,And cast them back on my heart?
Was there hidden within a lyre Which,as air breathed over its strings,Filled my song with a soul of fire,And sent back my words with wings?
Was some seraph imprisoned there,Whose voice made my song complete,And whose lingering,soft despair,Made the echo so faint and sweet?
Long I trembled and paused--then parted The curtains with heavy fringe;And,half fearing,yet eager-hearted Turned the door on its golden hinge.
Now I sing in the court once more,I sing and I weep all day,As I kneel by the close-shut door,For I know what the echoes say.
Yet I sing not the song of old,Ere I knew whence the echo came,Ere I opened the door of gold;But the music sounds just the same.
Then take warning,and turn away Do not ask of that hidden thing,Do not guess what the echoes say,Or the meaning of what I sing.
