Music poems

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The Home of Taliessin

© Alaric Alexander Watts

I stood on the spot where the famed Taliessin,

âThe Prince of the Bards,â had his dwelling of old;

Illusion and Reality

© Kabir

Jo Dise So To Hai Nahin,

Hai So Kaha Na Jayee

Is dead serious about this one, having rehearsed it for two weeks
they bring it right into the Odd Fellows Meeting Hall.
Riding the backs of the Trojan Women,
In Euripides’ great wake they are swept up,

Stanzas To the Memory Of George III

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

'Among many nations was there no King like him.' Nehemiah, xiii, 26.

'Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?' 2 Samuel, iii, 38.

A Wedding

© James Tate

She was in terrible pain the whole day,
as she had been for months: a slipped disc,
and there is nothing more painful. She

Concerning Jesus

© George MacDonald

I.

If thou hadst been a sculptor, what a race

The Love Cook

© Ron Padgett

Let me cook you some dinner.

Sit down and take off your shoes

Address For The Opening Of The Fifth Avenue Theatre

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

HANG out our banners on the stately tower
It dawns at last--the long-expected hour!
The steep is climbed, the star-lit summit won,
The builder's task, the artist's labor done;
Before the finished work the herald stands,
And asks the verdict of your lips and hands!

Messiah (Christmas Portions)

© Mark Doty

A little heat caught
in gleaming rags,
in shrouds of veil,
torn and sun-shot swaddlings:

"The Old Psalm Tune"

© Harriet Beecher Stowe

You asked, dear friend, the other day,
Why still my charmed ear
Rejoiceth in uncultured tone
That old psalm tune to hear?

Moving Bells

© Henry Van Dyke

Dear is the magic of this hour: she seems
To walk before the dark by falling rills,
And lend a sweeter song to hidden streams;
She opens all the doors of night, and fills
With moving bells the music of my dreams,
That wander far among the sleeping hills.

Magnets

A far look in absorbed eyes, unaware

Of what some gazer thrills to gather there;

Paradise Lost: Book I (1674)

So spake th' Apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but rackt with deep despare:
And him thus answer'd soon his bold Compeer.

Under The Rose

Oh the rose of keenest thorn!
One hidden summer morn
Under the rose I was born.

The Hunting of the Snark

"Just the place for a Snark!" the Bellman cried,
As he landed his crew with care;
Supporting each man on the top of the tide
By a finger entwined in his hair.