Thou art my singing and my voice, Thy life the thing that I would sing, Perfect past words of perfect choice, A lovely and a lasting thing. In every deed of thine, sweetheart, The poetry of heaven has part Beyond the gamut of all art, Leaving me mute and marvelling. Thy deeds, like rhymes, I have by heart, Thy happy deeds of heavenly choice, Deeds that rise rapt and shine apart As echoes of a perfect voice Rise and rejoice when voices sing, Linger and ring -- linger and ring Till heaven is of their echoing And all the heights of heaven rejoice. Thou art the song that I would sing, The purest song of purest art, Till men stand mute for marvelling, Aye, till the singing break Man's heart Where sorrows glory to rejoice In perfect notes of perfect choice And strains of One deep, tender voice Transfigured joys from sorrows start. In all this world I have no choice. If I would sing a perfect thing, Thou art my singing and my voice. Poor rhymes that earn no welcoming -- Rhymes that are nothing learned in art, From heaven, from her, such worlds apart -- Creep then unto her tender heart And from her living learn to sing! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FACE ON THE [BAR-ROOM] FLOOR by HUGH ANTOINE D'ARCY ELEONORA; A PANEGYRICAL POEM by JOHN DRYDEN A CHRISTMAS FOLKSONG by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE SKELETON OF THE FUTURE; AT LENIN'S TOMB by CHRISTOPHER MURRAY GRIEVE LAST WORDS TO A DUMB FRIEND by THOMAS HARDY A NICE CORRESPONDENT by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |