The sun drops luridly into the west;
darkness has raised her arms to draw him down
before the time, not waiting as of wont
till he has come to her behind the sea;
and the smooth waves grow sullen in the gloom
and wear their threatening purple; more and more
the plain of waters sways and seems to rise
convexly from its level of the shores;
and low dull thunder rolls along the beach:
there will be storm at last, storm, glorious storm.
......
Eyes tell, tell me, what you tell me,
telling something all too sweet,
making music out of beauty,
with a question hidden deep.
Still I think I know your meaning,
there behind your pupils’ brightness,
love and truth are your heart’s lightness,
that, instead of its own gleaming,
......
Let them bury your big eyes
In the secret earth securely,
Your thin fingers, and your fair,
Soft, indefinite-colored hair,—
All of these in some way, surely,
From the secret earth shall rise;
Not for these I sit and stare,
Broken and bereft completely;
Your young flesh that sat so neatly
On your little bones will sweetly
......
For months I was unable to listen. Thankfully that has passed. It still feels different though I’m sure it always will. You are music, to me. It’s taking some time separate the two. I realize You are not music just as you are not love. Two extraordinary and unexplainable things. Something you could never be. Maybe I haven’t lost too much.
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The melancholy gift Aurora gained
From Jove, that her sad lover should not see
The face of death, no goddess asked for thee,
My Keats! But when the crimson blood-drop stained
Thy pillow, thou didst read the fate ordained, --
Brief life, wild love, a flight of poesy!
And then, -- a shadow fell on Italy:
Thy star went down before its brightness waned,
Yet thou hast won the gift Tithonus missed:
......
Oh, I wish I had the philharmonic ears!
This song comes on strong with the agile
Breath of a swiftly dancing night.
Memories of it shall live forever.
And the lyrics, plain, speak of a
Silent humour hung on the ivied wall
Next to the thresholds of badinage.
Beethoven winked at the borders of restive
......
sedfgsfvs
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A search was made to find a child
in a world that time had forgotten among the vines of growing.
Where giants roamed, and a king and queen dressed like cards
saw a land through a glass of rose tint.
Like splashes of a rainbow on a virgin canvas.
An imagination once invisible, yet new, began to play.
To find once again that long lost land, where a mind and heart ran free,
Having broken chains to cross new worlds and make insignificance itself
an adventure.
......