Here you will find the Poem Song Of Songs of poet Wilfred Owen
Sing me at morn but only with your laugh; Even as Spring that laugheth into leaf; Even as Love that laugheth after Life. Sing me but only with your speech all day, As voluble leaflets do; let viols die; The least word of your lips is melody! Sing me at eve but only your sigh! Like lifting seas it solaceth; breathe so, Slowly and low, the sense that no songs say. Sing me at midnight with your murmurous heart! Let youth's immortal-moaning chord be heard Throbbing through you, and sobbing, unsubdued.