 | Poems (1895) |  |
118
XLVIII. WRITTEN AFTER HAVING RECEIVED A PRESENT OF FLOWERS.
I do not know, but (such is Fantasy!)I could believe these flowers are musical,
However silent unto our deaf hearing:
At least they speak to me of Music's crown,
And tell of great Musicians whom men name—
Mozart, Beethoven, at the height of fame,
And others, gifted but of less renown,
And their Interpreter, accomplish'd high,
Whose power compels their thoughts to reappearing,
And their clear inspiration doth recall,
In its rich eloquence ethereal,
And beam it bright around us! Flowers must die;
And so must we, and all things; yet there seems
Still, something deathless amid all our dreams.
17 April 1869.
| Poems (1895) | |