WHAT hopes and fears, what tragical delight, What lonely rapture, what immortal pain, Through those two hands have flowed, nor thrilled in vain The listening spirit and all its depth and height! Lovelier and sweeter from those hands of might The great strange soul of Schumann breathes again; Through those two hands the over-peopled brain Of Chopin floods with dreams the impassioned night. Yea, and he too, Beethoven the divine, Still shakes men's bosoms with his bosom's throes, O fair Enchantress, through those hands of thine; And yet perchance forgets at last his woes, Happy at last, to think that hands like those Have poured out to the world his heart's red wine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: AMI GREEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB AT SAINT PRAXED'S CHURCH by ROBERT BROWNING THE BOBBIN-WINDER by JOSEPHINE ELIZABETH ARCHER THE LONELY WALK by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS TO AN OLD SWEETHEART by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |