Unaware

There is a song some one must sing, In tender tones and low, With pink lips curled and quivering, And eyes with dreams aglow. There is some one must hear the tune, And feel the thrilling words, As flowers feel, in early June, The wings of humming-birds. And she who sings must never learn What good her song has done, Albeit the hearer slowly turn Him drowsily, as one Who feels through all his being thrown The influence sweet and slight Of strange, elusive perfume, blown Off dewy groves by night!