WHO longs for music merely longs for Love. For Love is music, and no minstrel needs Save his own sigh to breathe upon the reeds From heart too full, and -- like the adoring dove That cooes all day the darling nest above, Content if hour to happy hour succeeds -- Nor morning's song, nor noon's rich silence, heeds, Nor the old mysteries evening whispers of. But when the voice is echoless, the hand Long empty, then, O wedded harp and flute, Remind us Love's eternal, not Time's toy. O viol, at whose door of pain we stand, Love in thy muted anguish is not mute, But thrills with memory's new-remembered joy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OCTAVES: 12 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON SELF-INTERROGATION by EMILY JANE BRONTE OLD SUSAN by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE NATIONAL PAINTINGS: COL. TRUMBULL'S 'THE DECLARATION...' by FITZ-GREENE HALLECK EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: THE COWARD by RUDYARD KIPLING SONNET: 18. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT by JOHN MILTON COME UP HIGHER by MINNIE KEITH BAILEY |