O leave your hand where it lies cool 
Upon the eyes whose lids are hot: 
Its rosy shade is bountiful 
Of silence, and assuages thought. 
O lay your lips against your hand 
And let me feel your breath through it, 
While through the sense your song shall fit 
The soul to understand. 

The music lives upon my brain 
Between your hands within mine eyes; 
It stirs your lifted throat like pain, 
An aching pulse of melodies. 
Lean nearer, let the music pause: 
The soul may better understand 
Your music, shadowed in your hand 
Now while the song withdraws.