WORDS praising music, what are they but leaves Whirled round the fountain by the wind that grieves. Frail human speech falls idly as the snow On the red lava's flow, -- Still pours the music on, all passion and flame; As music passes, that which music came, -- Ever the same, with message never the same. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HEART OF A WOMAN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A DROP OF DEW by ANDREW MARVELL GRIN by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE SONG, FR. MEASURE FOR MEASURE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE KNOWLEDGE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |