I HEARD a song upon the wandering wind, A song of many tones -- though one full soul Breathed through them all imploringly; and made All nature as they passed, all quivering leaves And low responsive reeds and waters, thrill As with the consciousness of human prayer. -- At times the passion-kindled melody Might seem to gush from Sappho's fervent heart, Over the wild sea-wave; -- at times the strain Flowed with more plaintive sweetness, as if born Of Petrarch's voice, beside the lone Vaucluse; And sometimes, with its melancholy swell, A graver sound was mingled, a deep note Of Tasso's holy lyre. Yet still the tones Were of a suppliant -- "@3Leave me not!@1" was still The burden of their music; and I knew The lay which Genius, in its loneliness, Its own still world, amidst the o'erpeopled world, Hath ever breathed to Love. "They crown me with the glistening crown, Borne from a deathless tree; I hear the pealing music of renown -- O Love! forsake me not! Mine were a lone, dark lot, Bereft of thee! They tell me that my soul can throw A glory o'er the earth; From thee, from @3thee@1, is caught that golden glow! Shed by thy gentle eyes, It gives to flower and skies A bright, new birth! "Thence gleams the path of morning Over the kindling hills, a sunny zone! Thence to its heart of hearts the rose is burning With lustre not its own! Thence every wood-recess Is filled with loveliness, Each bower, to ring-doves and dim violets known. "I see all beauty by the ray That streameth from thy smile; Oh! bear it, bear it not away! Can that sweet light beguile? Too pure, too spirit-like, it seems, To linger long by earthly streams; I clasp it with th' alloy Of fear 'midst quivering joy. Yet must I perish if the gift depart -- Leave me not, Love! to mine own beating heart! "The music from my lyre With thy swift step would flee; The world's cold breath would quench the starry fire In my deep soul -- a temple filled with thee! Sealed would the fountains lie, The waves of harmony, Which thou alone canst free! "Like a shrine 'midst rocks forsaken, Whence the oracle hath fled; Like a harp which none might waken But a mighty master dead; Like the vase of a perfume scattered, Such would my spirit be -- So mute, so void, so shattered, Bereft of thee! "Leave me not, Love! or if this earth Yield not for thee a home, If the bright summer-land of thy pure birth Send thee a silvery voice that whispers '@3Come!@1' Then, with the glory from the rose, With the sparkle from the stream, With the light thy rainbow-presence throws Over the poet's dream; With all th' Elysian hues Thy pathway that suffuse, With joy, with music, from the fading grove, Take @3me@1, too, heavenward, on thy wing, sweet Love!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STANZAS FOR MUSIC (3) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON FALSE POETS AND TRUE; TO WORDSWORTH by THOMAS HOOD ON THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS WYATT by HENRY HOWARD THE BABY, FR. AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND by GEORGE MACDONALD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELSA WERTMAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ELEGIAC SONNET: 7. ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE NIGHTINGALE by CHARLOTTE SMITH |