[BNP/E3, 49A1 – 17]

Thy piano shuts – I know it – ay, alas!

Thy music’s gone and I who had a while

The solace of deep tears that might not pass,

Shall take my way

And put all fruitless longing in a smile.

(Carnival ’06 – therefore February 1906)

Oh for the power to lid thee play for ever

The power to make a statue of thy sand

Could I immortalize it, as a river,

Rendereth immortal its {…} waves that never

Mask the deep spirit’s pantheistic bound.

_______

Thou heardst, I doubt not, of despair and love

But hadst thy tilling from convention month

Couldst thou know all to which the sound doth move

Of thy soft instrument a shadowy grove

Hidden from me[1] in the moonlit south.

 
[1] from me /for music\