Unaware

There is a song some one must sing,
In tender tones and low,
With pink lips curled and quivering,
And eyes with dreams aglow.


There is some one must hear the tune,
And feel the thrilling words,
As flowers feel, in early June,
The wings of humming-birds.


And she who sings must never learn
What good her song has done,
Albeit the hearer slowly turn
Him drowsily, as one


Who feels through all his being thrown
The influence sweet and slight
Of strange, elusive perfume, blown
Off dewy groves by night!