LITTLE conjurer of keys, You shall play me, an you please, From the masters, music-blessed, Playing what I love the best: Something sweet of Schumann's make, Something sad for Chopin's sake; Then a waltz wth gayer graces Born of Liszt and pleasant places. Next, to sway my dreaming soul, Play a Schubert barcarole; And, to wake me from the trance, Just a tricksy Spanish dance. Now a fugue of Bach's, a song Weaving thoughts of right and wrong; And a thing of airy tone That belongs to Mendelssohn. A sonata-strain whose grief Gave Beethoven's heart relief; Last a melody divine From the soul of Rubenstein. Playing thus, the warp of life, Dark of hue and sorrow-rife, Shall be gladdened fold on fold With a woof of sunny gold, Woven from your melodies, Little conjurer of keys. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE WINSOME WEE THING by ROBERT BURNS SHELTERED GARDEN by HILDA DOOLITTLE EPITAPH INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON, IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALEXANDER POPE A RECEIPT TO CURE THE VAPOURS by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU THE WARM CRADLE by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA THE RWOSE IN THE DARK by WILLIAM BARNES |