Music, with the tears in it,
Through my soul is ringing,
Moods like bodies flame and flit
Through the spirit's singing;
Dream-birds half-articulate,
Which no charms can capture,
Come by twos and nest and mate
In a moment's rapture.
Now I seem to be upborne
On a starry pinion
Where the poet's hope forlorn
Has divine dominion
Where he sees the clouds of earth
Gather light and cluster,
As babes on the dawn of Birth
Watch the visions muster!
All that thought and feeling share
In a soul's possession
To my singing seems to bear
A divine confession;
As within my dreaming brain
Lips of inspiration
Breathe the beauty gone again
On a new creation.
An Aspiration.
written byRobert Crawford
© Robert Crawford