ONE singer in the oratorio, Her only did I see, nor can forget; Nor knew her name, nor have I seen her more, Nor could I in the chorus find her voice. Her swaying, gracious form, her face alight As with an inner flame of melody -- These seized me; seemed the white embodiment Of all the angelic voices richly poured In a great rushing and harmonious flood. That human form, all beautiful and bright, Lived the pure, conscious, glorious instrument Wherethrough the master made his message felt -- Conscious, but with no shallow vanity, A breathing image of a thought in sound, A living statue, symbol of a tone. That which she sang she was; and, unaware, Made music visible not less than heard. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THAT VAGRANT MISTRAL VEXING THE SUN: A FAR CRY by DARA WIER THE BOHEMIAN HYMN by RALPH WALDO EMERSON FALSTAFF'S SONG by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN THE ROYAL CROWN by ISRAEL ABRAHAMS TO HIS LYRE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |