Music poems
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At a Solemn Musick
© Delmore Schwartz
Let the musicians begin,
Let every instrument awaken and instruct us
In love’s willing river and love’s dear discipline:
We wait, silent, in consent and in the penance
Of patience, awaiting the serene exaltation
Which is the liberation and conclusion of expiation.
To my Comrade, Moses J. Jackson, Scoffer at this Scholarship
© Alfred Edward Housman
As we went walking far and wide
Through silent fields and countryside,
Orpheus with his Lute Made Trees
© William Shakespeare
Orpheus with his Lute made Trees,
And the Mountaine tops that freeze,
In Misty Blue
© Robert Laurence Binyon
In misty blue the lark is heard
Above the silent homes of men;
Believe, Believe
© Bob Kaufman
Believe in this. Young apple seeds,
In blue skies, radiating young breast,
The Nightingale Of Flanders
© Grace Hazard Conkling
THE nightingales of Flanders,
They had not gone to war;
A soldier heard them singing
Where they had sung before.
Gareth And Lynette
© Alfred Tennyson
To whom the mother said,
'True love, sweet son, had risked himself and climbed,
And handed down the golden treasure to him.'
Failures in Infinitives
© Bernadette Mayer
why am i doing this? Failure
to keep my work in order so as
Music For The Dying
© Robert Fuller Murray
Ye who will help me in my dying pain,
Speak not a word: let all your voices cease.
Let me but hear some soft harmonious strain,
And I shall die at peace.
God of the Open Air
© Henry Van Dyke
But One, but One,-ah, child most dear,
And perfect image of the Love Unseen,-
Walked every day in pastures green,
And all his life the quiet waters by,
Reading their beauty with a tranquil eye.
The Phantom-Song
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
IN museful hours, when thoughts of grace divine
Roll wave-like up the stormless strand of dreams;--
When that which is grows vague as that which seems,--
I mark, far-off, a radiant shade incline
The Half Of Life Gone
© William Morris
No, no, it is she no longer; never again can she come
And behold the hay-wains creeping o'er the meadows of her home;
No more can she kiss her son or put the rake in his hand
That she handled a while agone in the midst of the haymaking band.
Her laughter is gone and her life; there is no such thing on the earth,
No share for me then in the stir, no share in the hurry and mirth.
Her Beauty
© Max Plowman
I heard them say, "Her hands are hard as stone,"
And I remembered how she laid for me
Transmutation
© Madison Julius Cawein
To me all beauty that I see
Is melody made visible:
An earth-translated state, may be,
Of music heard in Heaven or Hell.
It Is The Hour
© George Gordon Byron
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour--when lover's vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word;
Trinity Sunday
© John Keble
Creator, Saviour, strengthening Guide,
Now on Thy mercy's ocean wide
Far out of sight we seem to glide.
