WHAT hopes and fears, what tragical delight, What lonely rapture, what immortal pain, Through those two hands have flowed, nor thrilled in vain The listening spirit and all its depth and height! Lovelier and sweeter from those hands of might The great strange soul of Schumann breathes again; Through those two hands the over-peopled brain Of Chopin floods with dreams the impassioned night. Yea, and he too, Beethoven the divine, Still shakes men's bosoms with his bosom's throes, O fair Enchantress, through those hands of thine; And yet perchance forgets at last his woes, Happy at last, to think that hands like those Have poured out to the world his heart's red wine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A CHILD DANCING IN THE WIND: 2 by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS OZYMANDIAS REVISITED by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP COUNTESS LAURA by GEORGE HENRY BOKER NATURES COOK by MARGARET LUCAS CAVENDISH MOONRISE IN THE ROCKIES by ELLA (RHOADS) HIGGINSON SUMMER (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |