Music poems
/ page 16 of 253 /
Under The Hunters Moon
© Madison Julius Cawein
White from her chrysalis of cloud,
The moth-like moon swings upward through the night;
And all the bee-like stars that crowd
The hollow hive of heav'n wane in her light.
21st September 1870
© Charles Kingsley
Speak low, speak little; who may sing
While yonder cannon-thunders boom?
Watch, shuddering, what each day may bring:
Nor 'pipe amid the crack of doom.'
The Things That Count
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Now, dear, it isn't the bold things,
Great deeds of valour and might,
Counterpoint: Two Rooms
© Conrad Aiken
He, in the room above, grown old and tired;
She, in the room below, his floor her ceiling,
Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,
And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter.
She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night.
Airs For The Lute
© Arthur Symons
All, that hands upon the lute
Helped the voices to declare,
Voices mute
But for this, might I not share,
If, alas, I could but suit-
Hand and voice unto the lute!
Fragments
© Madison Julius Cawein
The fields of space gleam bright, as if some ancient giant, old
As the moon and her extinguished mountains,
Had dipped his fingers huge into the twilight's sea of gold
And sprinkled all the heavens from these fountains.
The Wakeful Sleeper
© George MacDonald
When things are holding wonted pace
In wonted paths, without a trace
Or hint of neighbouring wonder,
Sometimes, from other realms, a tone,
A scent, a vision, swift, alone,
Breaks common life asunder.
Serenade
© Kenneth Slessor
THOU moon, like a white Christus hanging
At the sky's cross-roads, I'll court thee not,
Though travellers bend up, and seek thy grace.
Let them go truckle with their gifts and singing,
With Pipe And Flute
© Henry Austin Dobson
WITH pipe and flute the rustic Pan
Of old made music sweet for man;
The Progress Of Marriage
© Jonathan Swift
So have I seen within a pen,
Young ducklings fostered by a hen;
But when let out, they run and muddle,
As instinct leads them, in a puddle;
The sober hen, not born to swim,
With mournful note clucks round the brim.
The Ardennes Forest
© Zbigniew Herbert
Cup your hands to scoop up sleep
as you would draw a grain of water
The Princes' Quest - Part the First
© William Watson
There was a time, it passeth me to say
How long ago, but sure 'twas many a day
The Sensitive Plant
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
PART 1.
A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light.
And closed them beneath the kisses of Night.
To A Lady That Desired Me I Would Beare My Part With Her In
© Richard Lovelace
This is the prittiest motion:
Madam, th' alarums of a drumme
That cals your lord, set to your cries,
To mine are sacred symphonies.
L'art Et Le Peuple (Art And The People)
© Victor Marie Hugo
L'art, c'est la gloire et la joie.
Dans la tempête il flamboie ;
Il éclaire le ciel bleu.
L'art, splendeur universelle,
Au front du peuple étincelle,
Comme l'astre au front de Dieu.
