Thesouth wind rose at dusk of the winter day,The warm breath of the western seaCircling wrapped the isle with his cloak of cloud,And it now reached even to me, at dusk of the day,And moaned in the branches aloud:While here and there, in patches of dark space,A star shone forth from its heavenly place,As a spark that is borne in the smoky chase;And, looking up, there fell on my face—Could it be drops of rain,Soft as the wind, that fell on my face?Gossamers light as threads of the summer dawn,Sucked by the sun from midmost calms of the main,From groves of coral islands secretly drawn,O’er half the round of earth to be driven,Now to fall on my faceIn silky skeins spun from the mists of heaven.
Thesouth wind rose at dusk of the winter day,The warm breath of the western seaCircling wrapped the isle with his cloak of cloud,And it now reached even to me, at dusk of the day,And moaned in the branches aloud:While here and there, in patches of dark space,A star shone forth from its heavenly place,As a spark that is borne in the smoky chase;And, looking up, there fell on my face—Could it be drops of rain,Soft as the wind, that fell on my face?Gossamers light as threads of the summer dawn,Sucked by the sun from midmost calms of the main,From groves of coral islands secretly drawn,O’er half the round of earth to be driven,Now to fall on my faceIn silky skeins spun from the mists of heaven.
Thesouth wind rose at dusk of the winter day,The warm breath of the western seaCircling wrapped the isle with his cloak of cloud,And it now reached even to me, at dusk of the day,And moaned in the branches aloud:While here and there, in patches of dark space,A star shone forth from its heavenly place,As a spark that is borne in the smoky chase;And, looking up, there fell on my face—Could it be drops of rain,Soft as the wind, that fell on my face?Gossamers light as threads of the summer dawn,Sucked by the sun from midmost calms of the main,From groves of coral islands secretly drawn,O’er half the round of earth to be driven,Now to fall on my faceIn silky skeins spun from the mists of heaven.
Who art thou, in wind and darkness and soft rainThyself that robest, that bendest in sighing pinesTo whisper thy truth? that usest for signsA hurried glimpse of the moon, the glance of a starIn the rifted sky?Who art thou, that with thee IWoo and am wooed?That, robing thyself in darkness and soft rain,Choosest my chosen solitude,Coming so farTo tell thy secret again,As a mother her child on her folding arm,Of a winter night by a flickering fire,Telleth the same tale o’er and o’erWith gentle voice, and I never tire,So imperceptibly changeth the charm,As Love on buried ecstasy buildeth his tower,Like as the stem that beareth the flowerBy trembling is knit to power.Ah! long agoIn thy first rapture I renounced my lot,The vanity, the despondency, and the woe,And seeking thee to know,Well was’t for me, and evermoreI am thine, I know not what.
Who art thou, in wind and darkness and soft rainThyself that robest, that bendest in sighing pinesTo whisper thy truth? that usest for signsA hurried glimpse of the moon, the glance of a starIn the rifted sky?Who art thou, that with thee IWoo and am wooed?That, robing thyself in darkness and soft rain,Choosest my chosen solitude,Coming so farTo tell thy secret again,As a mother her child on her folding arm,Of a winter night by a flickering fire,Telleth the same tale o’er and o’erWith gentle voice, and I never tire,So imperceptibly changeth the charm,As Love on buried ecstasy buildeth his tower,Like as the stem that beareth the flowerBy trembling is knit to power.Ah! long agoIn thy first rapture I renounced my lot,The vanity, the despondency, and the woe,And seeking thee to know,Well was’t for me, and evermoreI am thine, I know not what.
Who art thou, in wind and darkness and soft rainThyself that robest, that bendest in sighing pinesTo whisper thy truth? that usest for signsA hurried glimpse of the moon, the glance of a starIn the rifted sky?Who art thou, that with thee IWoo and am wooed?That, robing thyself in darkness and soft rain,Choosest my chosen solitude,Coming so farTo tell thy secret again,As a mother her child on her folding arm,Of a winter night by a flickering fire,Telleth the same tale o’er and o’erWith gentle voice, and I never tire,So imperceptibly changeth the charm,As Love on buried ecstasy buildeth his tower,Like as the stem that beareth the flowerBy trembling is knit to power.Ah! long agoIn thy first rapture I renounced my lot,The vanity, the despondency, and the woe,And seeking thee to know,Well was’t for me, and evermoreI am thine, I know not what.
For me thou seekest ever, me wondering a dayIn the eternal alternations, meFree for a stolen moment of chanceTo dream a beautiful dreamIn the everlasting danceOf speechless worlds, the unsearchable scheme,To me thou findest the way,Me and whomsoe’erI have found my dream to shareStill with thy charm encircling; even to-nightTo me and my love in darkness and soft rainUnder the sighing pines thou comest again,And staying our speech with mystery of delight,Of the kiss that I give a wonder thou makest,And the kiss that I take thou takest.
For me thou seekest ever, me wondering a dayIn the eternal alternations, meFree for a stolen moment of chanceTo dream a beautiful dreamIn the everlasting danceOf speechless worlds, the unsearchable scheme,To me thou findest the way,Me and whomsoe’erI have found my dream to shareStill with thy charm encircling; even to-nightTo me and my love in darkness and soft rainUnder the sighing pines thou comest again,And staying our speech with mystery of delight,Of the kiss that I give a wonder thou makest,And the kiss that I take thou takest.
For me thou seekest ever, me wondering a dayIn the eternal alternations, meFree for a stolen moment of chanceTo dream a beautiful dreamIn the everlasting danceOf speechless worlds, the unsearchable scheme,To me thou findest the way,Me and whomsoe’erI have found my dream to shareStill with thy charm encircling; even to-nightTo me and my love in darkness and soft rainUnder the sighing pines thou comest again,And staying our speech with mystery of delight,Of the kiss that I give a wonder thou makest,And the kiss that I take thou takest.
Theday begins to droop,—Its course is done;But nothing tells the placeOf the setting sun.The hazy darkness deepens,And up the laneYou may hear, but cannot see,The homing wain.An engine pants and humsIn the farm hard by:Its lowering smoke is lostIn the lowering sky.The soaking branches drip,And all night throughThe dropping will not ceaseIn the avenue.A tall man there in the houseMust keep his chair:He knows he will never againBreathe the spring air.His heart is worn with work;He is giddy and sickIf he rise to go as farAs the nearest rick.He thinks of his morn of life,His hale, strong years;And braves as he may the nightOf darkness and tears.
Theday begins to droop,—Its course is done;But nothing tells the placeOf the setting sun.The hazy darkness deepens,And up the laneYou may hear, but cannot see,The homing wain.An engine pants and humsIn the farm hard by:Its lowering smoke is lostIn the lowering sky.The soaking branches drip,And all night throughThe dropping will not ceaseIn the avenue.A tall man there in the houseMust keep his chair:He knows he will never againBreathe the spring air.His heart is worn with work;He is giddy and sickIf he rise to go as farAs the nearest rick.He thinks of his morn of life,His hale, strong years;And braves as he may the nightOf darkness and tears.
Theday begins to droop,—Its course is done;But nothing tells the placeOf the setting sun.
The hazy darkness deepens,And up the laneYou may hear, but cannot see,The homing wain.
An engine pants and humsIn the farm hard by:Its lowering smoke is lostIn the lowering sky.
The soaking branches drip,And all night throughThe dropping will not ceaseIn the avenue.
A tall man there in the houseMust keep his chair:He knows he will never againBreathe the spring air.
His heart is worn with work;He is giddy and sickIf he rise to go as farAs the nearest rick.
He thinks of his morn of life,His hale, strong years;And braves as he may the nightOf darkness and tears.
ERRATA. (corrected in this etext.)
Page 40, second line from bottom, for “discontinue,” read “disentwine.”
Page 51, third line from top, for “thy,” read “the.”
FOOTNOTES:[1]For example, there is a passage in Dr. Parry’s recent work, “The Art of Music,” which will illustrate what I mean. It is in the chapter on Modern Tendencies. See especially, page 311.[2]I omit theidea, the musical suggestion of which is a feat of genius, independent of style. The apprehension and exhibition of themoodis generally considered a simple matter, but really it affords a wide field for subtlety of interpretation. I have, for the sake of simplicity, assumed that in their choral music the older musicians altogether disregarded the speech inflection of thephrase; but this is not quite true, and since, especially in such words as they usually set, the speech inflection is often uncertain and unimportant, or altogether a nonentity, and would very well correspond with almost any simple musical expression of the mood, this distinction between ancients and moderns cannot always be seen, or will appear only as a difference of degree.[3]Throughout these remarks I speak chiefly of the Ode. It is necessary in so wide a subject to aim at a definite mark, and while an ode happens to be in question, the Ode is also the example which is taken by Dr. Parry in the passage to which I have referred the reader.
FOOTNOTES:
[1]For example, there is a passage in Dr. Parry’s recent work, “The Art of Music,” which will illustrate what I mean. It is in the chapter on Modern Tendencies. See especially, page 311.
[1]For example, there is a passage in Dr. Parry’s recent work, “The Art of Music,” which will illustrate what I mean. It is in the chapter on Modern Tendencies. See especially, page 311.
[2]I omit theidea, the musical suggestion of which is a feat of genius, independent of style. The apprehension and exhibition of themoodis generally considered a simple matter, but really it affords a wide field for subtlety of interpretation. I have, for the sake of simplicity, assumed that in their choral music the older musicians altogether disregarded the speech inflection of thephrase; but this is not quite true, and since, especially in such words as they usually set, the speech inflection is often uncertain and unimportant, or altogether a nonentity, and would very well correspond with almost any simple musical expression of the mood, this distinction between ancients and moderns cannot always be seen, or will appear only as a difference of degree.
[2]I omit theidea, the musical suggestion of which is a feat of genius, independent of style. The apprehension and exhibition of themoodis generally considered a simple matter, but really it affords a wide field for subtlety of interpretation. I have, for the sake of simplicity, assumed that in their choral music the older musicians altogether disregarded the speech inflection of thephrase; but this is not quite true, and since, especially in such words as they usually set, the speech inflection is often uncertain and unimportant, or altogether a nonentity, and would very well correspond with almost any simple musical expression of the mood, this distinction between ancients and moderns cannot always be seen, or will appear only as a difference of degree.
[3]Throughout these remarks I speak chiefly of the Ode. It is necessary in so wide a subject to aim at a definite mark, and while an ode happens to be in question, the Ode is also the example which is taken by Dr. Parry in the passage to which I have referred the reader.
[3]Throughout these remarks I speak chiefly of the Ode. It is necessary in so wide a subject to aim at a definite mark, and while an ode happens to be in question, the Ode is also the example which is taken by Dr. Parry in the passage to which I have referred the reader.