I heard a voice from the far away
Softly say this to me—
“You will find the heart of the world some day
And the why of the things that be;
You will see the grief of the yea and nay
And the price of frailty.
“And upon your lute you will weave a theme
Which the world will harken and know;
For every note of the song will teem
With a great soul’s overflow—
You will speak the meaning within a dream
And the pain in the afterglow.
“But for all of this there’s a price—
’Tis the price of minstrelsy—
You will never have of the things you play,
Sad singer of poetry,
And throughout your life you will go for aye,
Heart-hungry and silently!”
I heard a voice from the far away
Softly say this to me.