 | Poems |  |
FOR MUSIC.
I
Prithee, let the song go roundTill the air be drunk with sound;
Swelling—sinking—like the ocean,
Let its waves come circling round,
Wakening into blest emotion
Every feeling in us found;
Thoughts of ill fly far its sound;
Prithee, let the song go round.
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II
Mirth is wisdom; sorrow's folly;Say sad sighers what they will:
Here we mock dull melancholy;
Laughter here is never still;
Here, no wearing cares come nigh us;
Sadness here no sighs can bring;
Ask you here why ill thoughts fly us?
Here we ever, ever sing.
III
Sing; in circling eddies, come,Pour the floods of song around us;
As though dreamless slumber bound us,
Care and sorrow shall be dumb:
Every thought of ill shall fly us;
All sweet thoughts sweet sounds shall bring;
Love and mirth alone be nigh us;
Sing, I pray you—prithee, sing.
IV
Sing on; sing on; around me bringingThoughts and feelings absent long;
To the witchery of your singing,
Round me once again they throng.
Places old of childhood's knowing,
While you sing, I tread again;
Words that bitter tears set flowing,
Wander back without their pain;
Griefs, again I look upon,
Welcome come; sing on; sing on.
| Poems | |