Music I heard with you was more than music,
When music sounds, all that I was I am
Ere to this haunt of brooding dust I came;
Living forever in temple and picture and statue and song, —
The last chord shook me as wind shakes a harp!
A trout-colored wind blows
through my eyes, through my fingers,
Should some notes we used to love,
In days of boyhood, meet our ear,
Music, oh, how faint, how weak,
Language fades before thy spell!
EXPERIENCE, like a pale musician, holds
A dulcimer of patience in his hand,
And like music on the waters
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer’s ocean.
But I will not fear to match them-no, by God, I will not fear,
I will learn you, I will play you and the stars stand still to hear.
(Photo by Hipster Hate)