When late I heard the trembling cello play, In every face I read sad memories That from dark, secret chambers where they lay Rose, and looked forth from melancholy eyes. So every mournful thought found there a tone To match despondence: sorrow knew its mate; Ill fortune sighed, and mute despair made moan; And one deep chord gave answer, "Late, -- too late." Then ceased the quivering strain, and swift returned Into its depths the secret of each heart; Each face took on its mask, where lately burned A spirit charmed to sight by music's art; But unto one who caught that inner flame No face of all can ever seem the same. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHEN LET BY RAIN by EDWARD TAYLOR IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 115 by ALFRED TENNYSON CURFEW MUST NOT RING TONIGHT by ROSE HARTWICK THORPE THE MODERN TIPPLING PHILOSOPHERS by JAMES HAY BEATTIE RECIPROCAL KINDNESS THE PRIMARY LAW OF NATURE by VINCENT BOURNE FALL IN! by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. AH! BLESSED IS HE by EDWARD CARPENTER |