WHEN the low music makes a dusk of sound About us, and the viol or far-off horn Swells out above it like a wind forlorn, That wanders seeking something never found, What phantom in your brain, on what dim ground, Traces its shadowy lines? What vision, born Of unfulfillment, fades in mere self-scorn, Or grows, from that still twilight stealing round? When the lids droop and the hands lie unstrung, Dare one divine your dream, while the chords weave Their cloudy woof from key to key, and die, -- Is it one fate that, since the world was young, Has followed man, and makes him half believe The voice of instruments a human cry? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CHRISTMAS HYMN (OLD STYLE: 1837) by ALFRED DOMETT TO THE THAWING WIND by ROBERT FROST FAUST: SCENE 1. PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE SONNET: THE HUMAN SEASONS by JOHN KEATS ROUGE BOUQUET [MARCH 7, 1918] by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER ENGLAND IN 1819 by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY JUNGLE by WILLIMINA L. ARMSTRONG THE BRIDES' TRAGEDY: ACT 2, SCENE 1 by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |