WORDS praising music, what are they but leaves Whirled round the fountain by the wind that grieves. Frail human speech falls idly as the snow On the red lava's flow, -- Still pours the music on, all passion and flame; As music passes, that which music came, -- Ever the same, with message never the same. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING BLIZZARD by JAMES GALVIN EPITAPH IN A CHURCH-YARD IN CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA by AMY LOWELL VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 10. STRESA by SARA TEASDALE EPODE: 2. THE PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS A BETTER RESURRECTION by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI MEMORY by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |