Sonnets By Emily Pfeiffer: Revised and Enlarged Ed. |
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42
II.
Is this the music that the wise presage
As of the “Future”?—this that storms and seeks
To force each door of sense, and loudest speaks
Through organs that grow less from age to age?
Alas! its human burthens so engage
The human soul, that not for us there breaks,
Wave-like, as on a life that first awakes
The careless joy of Nature's infant stage.
As of the “Future”?—this that storms and seeks
To force each door of sense, and loudest speaks
Through organs that grow less from age to age?
Alas! its human burthens so engage
The human soul, that not for us there breaks,
Wave-like, as on a life that first awakes
The careless joy of Nature's infant stage.
We think, we toil, we hope, we love, we die,
We know and would foreknow, we doubt and fear;
Till 'neath thy spell, O Wagner! we put by
“Future” and Present too, and drawing near
The base of life, thy breath, like the wild sigh
Of some Æonian Past, steals on the ear!
We know and would foreknow, we doubt and fear;
Till 'neath thy spell, O Wagner! we put by
“Future” and Present too, and drawing near
The base of life, thy breath, like the wild sigh
Of some Æonian Past, steals on the ear!
Sonnets | ||