"Sing, I tell the Italian: bring your barrel-organ. Sing." -- To his organ he chanted. Ah, the wretch, he yesterday so wiled my soul away. O @3mandoli-mandola!@1 The ocean, tawny and rose, tonight, a nonchalant rose, beats the embankment wall, and I let from my thoughts depart my fair singer or (my heart being not so prodigal) I dream him . . . But he: "Signor, if I sing you must not pore on yourself, the sea, this place of shining sand: my voice without me is empty noise. Scrutinize well my face." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE FOR A SOCIAL MEETING, WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES ST. ISAAC'S CHURCH, PETROGRAD by CLAUDE MCKAY FROST-WORK by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ON MRS PRIESTLEY'S LEAVING WARRINGTON by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD SHEMA-YISRAEL-ADONAI-ELOHENU ADONAI-ECHOD by NATHAN BERNSTEIN |