Music poems
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The Water Witch
© Madison Julius Cawein
See! the milk-white doe is wounded.
He will follow as it bounds
The Lily
© Albert Durrant Watson
Still to that love I am turning
Though beyond reach of my yearning;
And never the vision shall vanish
Nor time nor eternity banish
That dream so splendid of love and tears
That still transfigures the lonely years.
The Passing Of Cadieux
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
'Fresh is love in May
When the Spring is yearning,
Life is but a lay,
Love is quick in learning.
The Dying Dragoman
© Mathilde Blind
Again the ring of swinging chimes
Calls all the pious folk to church,
With shining Sunday face, betimes,
Through rustling woods of beech and birch
Night Thoughts In Age
© John Hall Wheelock
Light, that out of the west looked back once more
Through lids of cloud, has closed a sleepy eye;
Speech For Psyche In The Golden Book Of Apuleius
© Ezra Pound
All night, and as the wind lieth among
The cypress trees, he lay,
Praeceptor Amat
© Henry Timrod
How little I care
For your favorites, see! they are all of them, look!
On the spot where they fell, and - but here is your book!
Freedom
© Archibald Lampman
Out of the heart of the city begotten
Of the labour of men and their manifold hands,
Whose souls, that were sprung from the earth in her morning,
No longer regard or remember her warning,
Whose hearts in the furnace of care have forgotten
Forever the scent and the hue of her lands;
The golden journey
© William Vaughn Moody
All day he drowses by the sail
With dreams of her, and all night long
Piano Lessons
© William Matthews
Sometimes the music is locked
in the earth's body, matter-
of-fact, transforming itself.
Morning
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O GRACIOUS breath of sunrise! divine air!
That brood'st serenely o'er the purpling hills;
O blissful valleys! nestling, cool and fair,
In the fond arms of yonder murmurous rills,
Elegy On Newstead Abbey
© George Gordon Byron
No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord,
In grim array the crimson cross demand;
Or gay assemble round the festive board
Their chief's retainers, an immortal band:
Messengers
© Madison Julius Cawein
The wind, that gives the rose a kiss
With murmured music of the south,
Hath kissed a sweeter thing than this,--
The wind, that gives the rose a kiss--
The perfume of her mouth.
The Cloud Chorus
© Aristophanes
SOCRATES SPEAKS
Hither, come hither, ye Clouds renowned, and unveil yourselves
I Stood Tip-Toe Upon A Little Hill
© John Keats
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,
The air was cooling, and so very still,
That the sweet buds which with a modest pride
Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,
Quatrains Of Life
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?
