 | Poems of home and travel |  |
93
SORROWFUL MUSIC.
Give me music, or I die;
Music, wherein Sorrow's cry
Is a sweet, aerial sigh,—
Where Despair is harmony.
Music, wherein Sorrow's cry
Is a sweet, aerial sigh,—
Where Despair is harmony.
Give me music, such as winds
To the ambushed grief, and finds
Clews of soft-enticing sound,
Notes that soothe and cannot wound,
Leading with a tender care
Outward into brighter air:
Music which, with welcome pain,
Melted from the master's brain,
When his sorrow, freed from smart,
Laid its head upon his heart,
And the measure, broken, slow,—
Shed with tears in mingled flow,—
All its mighty secret spake
And it slept: it will not wake.
To the ambushed grief, and finds
Clews of soft-enticing sound,
Notes that soothe and cannot wound,
Leading with a tender care
Outward into brighter air:
Music which, with welcome pain,
Melted from the master's brain,
When his sorrow, freed from smart,
Laid its head upon his heart,
And the measure, broken, slow,—
Shed with tears in mingled flow,—
94
And it slept: it will not wake.
Give me music, sad and strong,
Drawn from deeper founts than Song;
More impassioned, full, and free
Than the Poet's numbers be:
Music which can master thee,
Stern enchantress, Memory!
Piercing through the gloomy stress
Of thy gathered bitterness,
As the summer lightnings play
Through a cloud's edge far away
Drawn from deeper founts than Song;
More impassioned, full, and free
Than the Poet's numbers be:
Music which can master thee,
Stern enchantress, Memory!
Piercing through the gloomy stress
Of thy gathered bitterness,
As the summer lightnings play
Through a cloud's edge far away
Give me music, I am dumb;
Choked with tears that never come
Give me music; sigh or word
Such a sorrow never stirred,—
Sorrow that with blinding pain
Lies like fire on heart and brain.
Earth and Heaven bring no relief
I am dumb; this weight of grief
Locks my lips; I cannot cry:
Give me music, or I die.
Choked with tears that never come
Give me music; sigh or word
Such a sorrow never stirred,—
Sorrow that with blinding pain
Lies like fire on heart and brain.
Earth and Heaven bring no relief
I am dumb; this weight of grief
Locks my lips; I cannot cry:
Give me music, or I die.
| Poems of home and travel | |