 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
409
TO MY NEIGHBOUR WHO SINGS, AND PLAYS ON THE PIANO-FORTE
Touch the notes lightly, fellow, one who dares
To paw so like a rampant catamount
But wrongs the gentle soul of Harmony.
Thou canst not bastinado into voice
Her light ethereal essence—she will breathe,
When fairy fingers light like falling leaves
Upon her couch of slumber, sweetest sounds;
But thou—O think of thine unwieldly hands
And use them sparely—silence is not woe.
To paw so like a rampant catamount
But wrongs the gentle soul of Harmony.
Thou canst not bastinado into voice
Her light ethereal essence—she will breathe,
When fairy fingers light like falling leaves
Upon her couch of slumber, sweetest sounds;
But thou—O think of thine unwieldly hands
And use them sparely—silence is not woe.
—I would not blame thee for thy scorn of time
Yet for the sake of my most ancient friend
Time in the primer, I have love for him.
Some men have ears and some they say have none—
I do not mean the base external flaps,
For all have these, and some exceeding long—
But the nice inward feeling of the soul.
Well art thou garnished with those outward signs!
Ill art thou furnished with that inner sense!
Yet for the sake of my most ancient friend
Time in the primer, I have love for him.
Some men have ears and some they say have none—
I do not mean the base external flaps,
For all have these, and some exceeding long—
But the nice inward feeling of the soul.
Well art thou garnished with those outward signs!
Ill art thou furnished with that inner sense!
—King have been soothed by music. There are times
When one whose hand is whiter than a pearl
Whose voice is clearer than a wild bird's trill
Has sung unto me till her tones like light
Have sunk into the stream of common thoughts
And made it bright as visions—but for thee
When the hoarse murmur of thy gurgling bass
Cracks into wild falsetto—I am wont
To say bad words that honesty forbids
And have black fancies threat'ning thee with ill.
When one whose hand is whiter than a pearl
Whose voice is clearer than a wild bird's trill
Has sung unto me till her tones like light
Have sunk into the stream of common thoughts
And made it bright as visions—but for thee
When the hoarse murmur of thy gurgling bass
Cracks into wild falsetto—I am wont
To say bad words that honesty forbids
And have black fancies threat'ning thee with ill.
—I have no hatred for thee—I am one
Who loves mankind because he is a man;
And were thy music wasted like the winds
Will all the air were echo, so that I
Were blest with deafness, I would only smile.
Or would'st thou sit upon a lonely rock
And raise thy tumult of unearthly sounds
If all the mermaids tore their ocean pearls
From their wet locks and flung them at thy feet,
I would not envy thee a single gem.
Who loves mankind because he is a man;
And were thy music wasted like the winds
Will all the air were echo, so that I
Were blest with deafness, I would only smile.
Or would'st thou sit upon a lonely rock
And raise thy tumult of unearthly sounds
If all the mermaids tore their ocean pearls
From their wet locks and flung them at thy feet,
I would not envy thee a single gem.
—And now when thou shalt see my simple lines
With these three poor initials at their foot
Let not thy temper like the porcupine
Start into rigid bristles—but be calm.
Remember that I love thee—O remember
That if I did address thee half unkindly
The mingled torrent of thy crash and screams
Fast then was bursting fresh upon my ear;
But now my sense is palsied—I have learned
To look upon thee as an erring man
More than a sinning, and I wish thee well.
With these three poor initials at their foot
Let not thy temper like the porcupine
Start into rigid bristles—but be calm.
Remember that I love thee—O remember
That if I did address thee half unkindly
The mingled torrent of thy crash and screams
Fast then was bursting fresh upon my ear;
But now my sense is palsied—I have learned
To look upon thee as an erring man
More than a sinning, and I wish thee well.
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |