 | Sonnets and Other Poems Chiefly Religious |  |
136
MEDITATIONS OF A DEAF MUTE.
[_]
The original of the following is from the introduction to “Poesies d'un Sourd-Muet, par M. P. Pelissier, Professeur-Suppleant à l'Institut Royal des Sourds Muets de Paris; avec une Introduction par M. Laurent de Jussien. Libraire de Charles Gosselin, 1844.” It is printed in the Appendix to the present volume.
Voice of our fleeting joys thou art,
And echo of our lengthened woes,
O Poetry! thou art what overflows
From the full human heart,
And through all nature spreads;—the wind's low sigh,
The reed that whispers mournfully,
The bird, its songs outpouring,
The ocean's murmurs that for ever rise,
The thunder loudly roaring,
In human joy and sorrow sympathize.
And echo of our lengthened woes,
O Poetry! thou art what overflows
From the full human heart,
And through all nature spreads;—the wind's low sigh,
The reed that whispers mournfully,
The bird, its songs outpouring,
The ocean's murmurs that for ever rise,
The thunder loudly roaring,
In human joy and sorrow sympathize.
But I—must I, for whom
The silence of the tomb
Pervadeth all, remain apart, alone?
And must all harmony
For ever be to me
A thing unshared in, unenjoyed, unknown?
Are not imagination's dreams the notes
Of a rich spiritual melody
Wherein my soul in tranquil gladness floats,
Like clouds that float in sunset's golden sea?
The silence of the tomb
Pervadeth all, remain apart, alone?
And must all harmony
For ever be to me
A thing unshared in, unenjoyed, unknown?
137
Of a rich spiritual melody
Wherein my soul in tranquil gladness floats,
Like clouds that float in sunset's golden sea?
When into reverie I fall,
Music ineffable and deep
Within my heart arises:—all
My being then doth silence keep
As if to hear my soul pour forth her song,
And then a thrill of joy runs all my veins along.
Music ineffable and deep
Within my heart arises:—all
My being then doth silence keep
As if to hear my soul pour forth her song,
And then a thrill of joy runs all my veins along.
In hours like these my fancy taketh wings,
And, passing that vague space which separates
Realities from unsubstantial things,
New worlds of music for herself creates.
And, passing that vague space which separates
Realities from unsubstantial things,
New worlds of music for herself creates.
All things, however great, that men invent,
Like man, are finite; but the rich gifts sent
By God are infinite, and ever true,
And ever beautiful, and ever new.
Like man, are finite; but the rich gifts sent
By God are infinite, and ever true,
And ever beautiful, and ever new.
The harmony of sound is sealed to me,
And yet I think I can its nature know.
And ye—know ye the ideal melody
That hovers, like a dove with plumes of snow,
In the mystic heaven where my imagination
Revels in beauty, all her own creation?
And yet I think I can its nature know.
And ye—know ye the ideal melody
That hovers, like a dove with plumes of snow,
In the mystic heaven where my imagination
Revels in beauty, all her own creation?
| Sonnets and Other Poems Chiefly Religious | |