Deaf

As to a bird’s song she were listening, Her beautiful head is ever sidewise bent; Her questioning eyes lift up their depths intent— She, who will never hear the wild-birds sing. My words within her ears’ cold chambers ring Faint, with the city’s murmurous sub-tones blent, Though with such sounds as suppliants may have sent To high-throned goddesses, my speech takes wing. Not for the side-poised head's appealing grace I gaze, nor hair where fire in shadow lies— For her this world's unhallowed noises base Melt into silence; not our groans, our cries, Our curses reach that high-removed place Where dwells her spirit, innocently wise.