The voice I hear this passing night was heardTonight, for some reason, while at a performance of Rachmaninoff's 3rd piano concerto, I was haunted by that last phrase, and tried a different direction.
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the selfsame song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
Amid the alien corn,
she lifted her eyes to the moon
and felt a silent tune
screaming to be born.
Allowing her lips to part,
she heard... and unburdened her heart.