Music poems

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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 13

© Conrad Aiken

My heart is an old house, and in that forlorn old house,

In the very centre, dark and forgotten,

Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story - Part I.

© Isabella Valancy Crawford

O, light canoe, where dost thou glide?
Below thee gleams no silver'd tide,
But concave heaven's chiefest pride.

On a Spanish Cathedral

© Henry Kendall

DEEP under the spires of a hill, by the feet of the thunder-cloud trod,

I pause in a luminous, still, magnificent temple of God!

Autumnal Nightfall

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Round Autumn's mouldering urn
Loud mourns the chill and cheerless gale,
When nightfall shades the quiet vale
And stars in beauty burn.

The Song

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

MY soul, lost in the music's mist,

Roamed, rapt, 'neath skies of amethyst,

Imogen

© Sir Henry Newbolt

(A Lady of Tender Age)

Ladies, where were your bright eyes glancing,

The Princes' Qust - Part the Fourth

© William Watson

So spake the Spirit unto him that dreamed,
And suddenly that world of shadow seemed
More shadowy; and all things began to blend
Together: and the dream was at an end.

Hyperion, A Vision: Attempted Reconstruction Of The Poem

"With such remorseless speed still come new woes,
That unbelief has not a space to breathe.
Saturn! sleep on: me thoughtless, why should I
Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude?
Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes?
Saturn! sleep on, while at thy feet I weep."

Fourth Sunday In Advent

© John Keble

Of the bright things in earth and air
How little can the heart embrace!
Soft shades and gleaming lights are there -
I know it well, but cannot trace.

Lines For Music

© Frances Anne Kemble

False Love, take hence thy roses,
Give me the bitter Rue
That on my heart reposes,
Sorrow at least is true.

The Departure of Summer

© Thomas Hood

Summer is gone on swallows' wings,
And Earth has buried all her flowers:
No more the lark,the linnetsings,
But Silence sits in faded bowers.

A Saint About To Fall

© Dylan Thomas

A saint about to fall,

The stained flats of heaven hit and razed

Brother Artist

© George MacDonald

Brother artist, help me; come!
Artists are a maimed band:
I have words but not a hand;
Thou hast hands though thou art dumb.

The Lady Of La Garaye - Part IV

Not vacant in the day of which I write!
Then rose thy pillared columns fair and white;
Then floated out the odorous pleasant scent
Of cultured shrubs and flowers together blent,
And o'er the trim-kept gravel's tawny hue
Warm fell the shadows and the brightness too.

Sonnet LXV: Known in Vain

As two whose love, first foolish, widening scope,

Knows suddenly, to music high and soft,

Epigrams

'Tis human fortune's happiest height to be
A spirit melodious, lucid, poised, and whole;
Second in order of felicity
I hold it, to have walk'd with such a soul.