 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
210
A MEMORY OF RUBINSTEIN
He of the ocean is, its thunderous wavesEcho his music; while far down the shore
Mad laughter hurries—a white, blowing spume.
I hear again in memory that wild storm;
The winds of heaven go rushing round the world,
And broods above the rage one sphinx-like face.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |