The Singing Place by Lily A Long

The Singing Place
By Lily A. Long
COLD may lie the day,
    And bare of grace;
At night I slip away
    To the Singing Place.
A border of mist and doubt        5
    Before the gate,
And the Dancing Stars grow still
    As hushed I wait.
Then faint and far away
    I catch the beat        10
In broken rhythm and rhyme
    Of joyous feet,—
Lifting waves of sound
    That will rise and swell
(If the prying eyes of thought        15
    Break not the spell),
Rise and swell and retreat
    And fall and flee,
As over the edge of sleep
    They beckon me.        20
And I wait as the seaweed waits
    For the lifting tide;
To ask would be to awake,—
    To be denied.
I cloud my eyes in the mist        25
    That veils the hem,—
And then with a rush I am past,—
    I am Theirs, and of Them!
And the pulsing chant swells up
    To touch the sky,        30
And the song is joy, is life,
    And the song am I!
The thunderous music peals
    Around, o’erhead—
The dead would awake to hear        35
    If there were dead;
But the life of the throbbing Sun
    Is in the song,
And we weave the world anew,
    And the Singing Throng        40
Fill every corner of space—
Over the edge of sleep
    I bring but a trace
Of the chants that pulse and sweep
    In the Singing Place.        45