The Spell

From the French by Gertrude Hall  “Son joyeux, importun, d’un clavecin sonore.” —PÉTRUS BOREL.     THE KEYBOARD, over which two slim hands float,   Shines vaguely in the twilight pink and gray, Whilst with a sound like wings, note after note   Takes flight to form a pensive little lay That strays, discreet and charming, faint, remote,   About the room where perfumes of Her stray. What is this sudden quiet cradling me   To that dim ditty’s dreamy rise and fall? What do you want with me, pale melody?   What is it that you want, ghost musical, That fades toward the window waveringly,   A little open on the garden small?