 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
“THE PATHETIC SYMPHONY”
(TSCHAIKOWSKY)
When the last movement fell, I thought: Ah, me!Death this indeed; but still the music poured
On and still on. O, deathlier it grew,
And then, at last, my beating heart stood still—
Beyond all natural grief the music passing,
Beyond all tragedy, or last farewell.
Then, on that fatal tide, dismayed I felt
This living soul, my own, without one tear,
Slowly, irrevocably, and alone,
Enter the ultimate silence and the dark.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |