 | Songs of summer |  |
50
THE DEMON OF MUSIC.
There's a demon in Music,
Whatever its tone;
He dwells in the crowd
Of its voices alone:
He moans when they laugh,
He laughs when they moan!
Whatever its tone;
He dwells in the crowd
Of its voices alone:
He moans when they laugh,
He laughs when they moan!
This demon of Music
Hath some how been crossed;
He longs for what is not,
Or was, and is lost:
That Life is a torture
He knows to his cost!
Hath some how been crossed;
He longs for what is not,
Or was, and is lost:
That Life is a torture
He knows to his cost!
O demon of Music!
I pity your pain;
I have felt it myself,
And shall feel it again:
'Tis the riddle of living,
This living in vain!
I pity your pain;
I have felt it myself,
And shall feel it again:
'Tis the riddle of living,
This living in vain!
| Songs of summer | |