 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
390
“HOW STRANGE THE MUSICIAN'S MEMORY”
How strange the musician's memory, never wrongIn symphony, sonata, fugue, or song!
Sees he the score with wide, unseeing eyes,
Or is it sound his heart doth memorize?
What is it like? Behold, from out the west,
The long light on the wild wave's flying crest.
See the swift gleam rush up the leaning strand
And die in foam upon the singing sand.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |