BROKEN MUSIC
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he mother will not turn, who thinks she hearsHer nursling's speech first grow articulate;But breathless with averted eyes elateShe sits, with open lips and open ears,That it may call her twice. 'Mid doubts and fearsThus oft my soul has hearkened; till the song,A central moan for days, at length found tongue,And the sweet music welled and the sweet tears. But now, whatever while the soul is fainTo list that wonted murmur, as it wereThe speech-bound sea-shell's low importunate strain,--No breath of song, thy voice alone is there,O bitterly beloved! and all her gainIs but the pang of unpermitted prayer.
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