MUSIC COMES

by: John Freeman

USIC comes

Sweetly from the trembling string

When wizard fingers sweep

Dreamily, half asleep;

When through remembering reeds

Ancient airs and murmurs creep,

Oboe oboe following,

Flute answering clear high flute,

Voices, voices--falling mute,

And the jarring drums.

 

At night I heard

First a waking bird

Out of the quiet darkness sing.

Music comes

Strangely to the brain asleep!

And I heard

Soft, wizard fingers sweep

Music from the trembling string,

And through remembering reeds

Ancient airs and murmurs creep;

Oboe oboe following,

Flute calling clear high flute,

Voices faint, falling mute,

And low jarring drums;

Then all those airs

Sweetly jangled--newly strange,

Rich with change . . .

Was it the wind in the reeds?

Did the wind range

Over the trembling string;

Into flute and oboe pouring

Solemn music; sinking, soaring

Low to high,

Up and down the sky?

Was it the wind jarring

Drowsy far-off drums?

 

Strangely to the brain asleep

Music comes.

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