'T is you that are the music, not your song. The song is but a door which, opening wide, Lets forth the pent-up melody inside, Your spirit's harmony, which clear and strong Sings but of you. Throughout your whole life long Your songs, your thoughts, your doings, each divide This perfect beauty; waves within a tide, Or single notes amid a glorious throng. The song of earth has many different chords; Ocean has many moods and many tones Yet always ocean. In the damp Spring woods The painted trillium smiles, while crisp pine cones Autumn alone can ripen. So is this One music with a thousand cadences. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALFRED MOIR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPRING'S NEBRASKA by KAREN SWENSON THE SHADOWY WATERS: A DRAMATIC POEM by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO A LILY by JAMES MATHEWES LEGARE AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN REDBEAST by SAMUEL ROGERS THE BUS by MABEL WARREN ARNOLD EMBLEMS OF LOVE: CUPID TO CHLOE WEEPING; A SONNET by PHILIP AYRES HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 33 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |