He stutters and stammers -- a catch in his throat -- Chromatics falter -- too many notes float -- Beginnings too eager -- scales all uncertain -- Come to a cadence, too careful the curtain. The thing that he studies -- flattering, fluttering -- Might be called song could the fellow but sing From the start of a phrase to end of a sentence, And not be pursued and be caught by repentance. Who would consider such doings professional? -- The little he does, does it sound processional? -- And still, he persists and resists till he find A channel for opening the way to his mind. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN A CATHEDRAL CITY by THOMAS HARDY IN EARLIEST SPRING by WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS DON'T YOU WISH YOU KNEW! by A. H. B. TWILIT HARMONY by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE GATES OF PARADISE; FOR CHILDREN by WILLIAM BLAKE |