 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
THE UTTERED SOUL.
If God to me had given the heart and brain
Of some musician skilled above the rest,
Her soul in music had been manifest.
Perchance some painter, frenzied to sweet pain
By her deep loveliness, through stress and strain
Of great desire to be through life possessed
Of all that beauty, had been crowned and blessed,
And, spent yet living, seen the light strike plain
Of some musician skilled above the rest,
Her soul in music had been manifest.
Perchance some painter, frenzied to sweet pain
By her deep loveliness, through stress and strain
Of great desire to be through life possessed
Of all that beauty, had been crowned and blessed,
And, spent yet living, seen the light strike plain
Upon her deathless loveliness, and died!
But Music could alone her spirit render;
Long waves of passionate melody that roll
Wave after wave all tending to one goal,
Pure notes, intense, beyond all language tender,
Her soul in music, Music deified!
But Music could alone her spirit render;
Long waves of passionate melody that roll
Wave after wave all tending to one goal,
Pure notes, intense, beyond all language tender,
Her soul in music, Music deified!
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |