The Voice That Sings

The voice that sings across the night
    Of long forgotten days and things,
Is there an ear to hear aright
    The voice that sings?

It is as when a curfew rings
    Melodious in the dying light,
A sound that flies on pulsing wings.

And faded eyes that once were bright
    Brim over, as to life it brings
The echo of a dead delight,
    The voice that sings.

Robert Fuller Murray

Robert Fuller Murray was a Scottish poet known for his lyrical and expressive poetry. Born on December 26, 1863, in Roxbury, Massachusetts, he moved to Scotland at a young age. Despite a short life, ending on April 15, 1894, Murray left a significant mark with his works, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry is characterized by its elegance and depth of feeling. Murray's influence remained through posthumous publications and collections of his poetry.

Robert Fuller Murray

A December Day

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

Youth Renewed

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

A College Career

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

Art's Discipline

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Dawn Song

I hear a twittering of birds,
    And now they burst in song.
How sweet, although it wants the words!
    It shall not want them long,
For I will set some to the note
Which bubbles from the thrush's throat.

O jewelled night, that reign'st on high,
    Where is thy crescent moon?
Thy stars have faded from the sky,
    The sun is coming soon.
The summer night is passed away,
Sing welcome to the summer day.

Robert Fuller Murray

In Time Of Sorrow

Despair is in the suns that shine,
    And in the rains that fall,
This sad forsaken soul of mine
    Is weary of them all.

They fall and shine on alien streets
    From those I love and know.
I cannot hear amid the heats
    The North Sea's freshening flow

The people hurry up and down,
    Like ghosts that cannot lie;
And wandering through the phantom town
    The weariest ghost am I.

Robert Fuller Murray

An Afterthought

You found my life, a poor lame bird
    That had no heart to sing,
You would not speak the magic word
    To give it voice and wing.

Yet sometimes, dreaming of that hour,
    I think, if you had known
How much my life was in your power,
    It might have sung and flown.

Robert Fuller Murray

After Many Days

The mist hangs round the College tower,
    The ghostly street
Is silent at this midnight hour,
    Save for my feet.

With none to see, with none to hear,
    Downward I go
To where, beside the rugged pier,
    The sea sings low.

It sings a tune well loved and known
    In days gone by,
When often here, and not alone,
    I watched the sky.

That was a barren time at best,
    Its fruits were few;
But fruits and flowers had keener zest
    And fresher hue.

Life has not since been wholly vain,
    And now I bear
Of wisdom plucked from joy and pain
    Some slender share.

But, howsoever rich the store,
    I'd lay it down,
To feel upon my back once more
    The old red gown.

Robert Fuller Murray

Nightfall

Let me sleep.    The day is past,
    And the folded shadows keep
Weary mortals safe and fast.
            Let me sleep.

I am all too tired to weep
    For the sunlight of the Past
Sunk within the drowning deep.

Treasured vanities I cast
    In an unregarded heap.
Time has given rest at last.
            Let me sleep.

Robert Fuller Murray

Song Is Not Dead

Song is not dead, although to-day
    Men tell us everything is said.
There yet is something left to say,
    Song is not dead.

While still the evening sky is red,
    While still the morning gold and grey,
While still the autumn leaves are shed,

While still the heart of youth is gay,
    And honour crowns the hoary head,
While men and women love and pray
    Song is not dead.

Robert Fuller Murray