IF to your wondrous voice and art I give not plaudits with the throng, 'T is lest I spill my brimming heart And in the singer lose the song. Too soon the sweetest cadence dies; The vanished vision leaves but this: The burden of the things we prize, The pathos of the things we miss. Oh, for a silence that should hold These echoes of delicious sound As depths of a still lake enfold Brooks that fall fainter bound by bound. Yours is the art of Orphic power To charm the soul from out its hell -- Deserts of absence to reflower With rose instead of asphodel. Like dew on gossamer, a tear Lies on the fabric of our dream: Despairing hope! that we who hear Might be as noble as you seem. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DOUBLE BALLAD OF GOOD COUNSEL by FRANCOIS VILLON AURENG-ZEBE, OR THE GREAT MOGUL: PROLOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN GLOTTO'S TOWER by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE CROSS OF SNOW by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE ALBION QUEENS, ACT 1: THE WONDER by JOHN BANKS (17TH CENTURY-) FIRST SIGHT by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |