(LISZT) I WHAT is her playing like? 'T is like the wind in wintry northern valleys: A dream-pause; then it rallies And once more bends the pine-tops, shatters The ice-crags, whitely scatters The spray along the paths of avalanches, Startles the blood, and every visage blanches. II Half-sleeps the wind above a swirling pool That holds the trembling shadow of the trees; Where waves too wildly rush to freeze Though all the air is cool; And hear, oh hear, while musically call With nearer tinkling sounds, or distant roar, Voices of fall on fall; And now a swelling blast, that dies; and now -- no more, no more. (CHOPIN) I AH, what celestial art! And can sweet thoughts become pure tone and float, All music, into the trancÈd mind and heart! Her hand scarce stirs the singing, wiry metal -- . Hear from the wild-rose fall each perfect petal! II And can we have, on earth, of heaven the whole! Heard thoughts -- the soul of inexpressible thought; Roses of sound That strew melodious leaves upon the silent ground; And music that is music's very soul, Without one touch of earth, -- Too tender, even, for sorrow, and too bright for mirth! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN A GONDOLA by ROBERT BROWNING WITH WHOM IS NO VARIABLENESS, NEITHER SHADOW OF TURNING' by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH MERSA by KEITH CASTELLAINE DOUGLAS THE BOOK [OF THE WORLD] by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN A CONSERVATIVE by CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON GILMAN A TRAMPWOMAN'S TRAGEDY by THOMAS HARDY GLOTTO'S TOWER by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |