23.07.2007, 08:48
THE VIOLIN.
BEFORE the listening world here bold I stand,
The hot air quivers with my passionate play;
I hear their clappings, and their feet alway
Follow with storm some passage glad or grand:
And now they fall to weeping at my hand,
And now they hear the trump of judgment day,
And now one white small note to heaven doth stray
And fluttering fall upon the golden sand.
But like the murmur of the distant sea
Their loud applause, and far, oh, far and weak
Soundeth my own strong music unto me
Far from the soul of music that doth speak
In wordless wail and joyful agony
From this dear thing I press against my cheek.
BEFORE the listening world here bold I stand,
The hot air quivers with my passionate play;
I hear their clappings, and their feet alway
Follow with storm some passage glad or grand:
And now they fall to weeping at my hand,
And now they hear the trump of judgment day,
And now one white small note to heaven doth stray
And fluttering fall upon the golden sand.
But like the murmur of the distant sea
Their loud applause, and far, oh, far and weak
Soundeth my own strong music unto me
Far from the soul of music that doth speak
In wordless wail and joyful agony
From this dear thing I press against my cheek.