The Unknown Singer

ONE singer in the oratorio, Her only did I see, nor can forget; Nor knew her name, nor have I seen her more, Nor could I in the chorus find her voice. Her swaying, gracious form, her face alight As with an inner flame of melody — These seized me; seemed the white embodiment Of all the angelic voices richly poured In a great rushing and harmonious flood. That human form, all beautiful and bright, Lived the pure, conscious, glorious instrument Wherethrough the master made his message felt — Conscious, but with no shallow vanity, A breathing image of a thought in sound, A living statue, symbol of a tone. That which she sang she was; and, unaware, Made music visible not less than heard.