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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
ESSIPOFF
I
What is her playing like?I ask—while dreaming here under her music's power.
'T is like the leaves of the dark passion-flower
Which grows on a strong vine whose roots, O, deep they sink,
Deep in the ground, that flower's pure life to drink.
119
II
What is her playing like?'T is like a bird
Who, singing in a wild wood, never knows
That its lone melody is heard
By wandering mortal, who forgets his heavy woes.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |