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Poetry of Amy Lowell
A Dome of Many-coloured Glass

Frankincense and Myrrh

My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings
 Vibrate most readily to minor chords,
 Searching and sad; my mind is stuffed with words
Which voice the passion and the ache of things:
Illusions beating with their baffled wings
 Against the walls of circumstance, and hoards
 Of torn desires, broken joys; records
Of all a bruised life's maimed imaginings.
 Now you are come!  You tremble like a star
Poised where, behind earth's rim, the sun has set.
   Your voice has sung across my heart, but numb
 And mute, I have no tones to answer.  Far
Within I kneel before you, speechless yet,
   And life ablaze with beauty, I am dumb.