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ISRAFIDDLESTRINGS
In heaven a Spirit doth dwell
Whose heartstrings are a fiddle
(The reason he sings so well—
This fiddler Israfel),
And the giddy stars (will any one tell
Why giddy?) to attend his spell
Cease their hymns in the middle.
Whose heartstrings are a fiddle
(The reason he sings so well—
This fiddler Israfel),
And the giddy stars (will any one tell
Why giddy?) to attend his spell
Cease their hymns in the middle.
On the height of her go
Totters the Moon and blushes
As the song of that fiddle rushes
Across her bow.
The red Lightning stands to listen;
And the eyes of the Pleiads glisten
As each of the seven puts its fist in
Its eyes, for the mist in.
Totters the Moon and blushes
As the song of that fiddle rushes
Across her bow.
The red Lightning stands to listen;
And the eyes of the Pleiads glisten
As each of the seven puts its fist in
Its eyes, for the mist in.
8
And they say—it's a riddle—
That all these listening things,
That stop in the middle
For the heart-strung fiddle
With which the Spirit sings,
Are held as on a griddle
By these unusual strings.
That all these listening things,
That stop in the middle
For the heart-strung fiddle
With which the Spirit sings,
Are held as on a griddle
By these unusual strings.
Wherefore thou art not wrong,
Israfel! in that thou boastest
Fiddlestrings uncommon strong:
To thee the fiddle-strings belong
With which thou toastest
Other hearts, as on a prong.
Israfel! in that thou boastest
Fiddlestrings uncommon strong:
To thee the fiddle-strings belong
With which thou toastest
Other hearts, as on a prong.
Yes! heaven is thine: but this
Is a world of sours and sweets,—
Where cold meats are cold meats,
And the eater's most perfect bliss
Is the shadow of him who treats.
Is a world of sours and sweets,—
Where cold meats are cold meats,
And the eater's most perfect bliss
Is the shadow of him who treats.
If I could griddle
As Israfiddle
Has griddled,—he fiddle as I,—
He might not fiddle so wild a riddle
As this mad melody,
While the Pleiads all would leave off in the middle
Hearing my griddle-cry.
As Israfiddle
Has griddled,—he fiddle as I,—
He might not fiddle so wild a riddle
As this mad melody,
While the Pleiads all would leave off in the middle
Hearing my griddle-cry.
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