IF to your wondrous voice and art I give not plaudits with the throng, 'T is lest I spill my brimming heart And in the singer lose the song. Too soon the sweetest cadence dies; The vanished vision leaves but this: The burden of the things we prize, The pathos of the things we miss. Oh, for a silence that should hold These echoes of delicious sound As depths of a still lake enfold Brooks that fall fainter bound by bound. Yours is the art of Orphic power To charm the soul from out its hell -- Deserts of absence to reflower With rose instead of asphodel. Like dew on gossamer, a tear Lies on the fabric of our dream: Despairing hope! that we who hear Might be as noble as you seem. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: PETIT THE POET by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER by ALEXANDER POPE THE TWO ANGELS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 2. FINLAY by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM ALL HAIL TO THE CZAR! by ALFRED AUSTIN THE VALLEY OF FERN: PART 2 by BERNARD BARTON |