Frederick George Scott

(7 April 1861 – 19 January 1944 / Montreal)

At Nightfall - Poem by Frederick George Scott

O little hands, long vanished in the night--
Sweet fairy hands that were my treasure here--
My heart is full of music from some sphere,
Where ye make melody for God's delight.
Though autumn clouds obscure the starry height,
And winds are noisy and the land is drear,
In this blank room I feel my lost love near,
And hear you playing--hands so small and white.
The shadowy organ sings its songs again,
The dead years turn to music at its voice,
And all the dreams come back my brain did store.
Once more, dear hands, ye soothe me in my pain,
Once more your music makes my heart rejoice--
God speed the day we clasp for evermore!


Comments about At Nightfall by Frederick George Scott

  • Silver Star - 3,215 Points Walterrean Salley (5/18/2012 12:10:00 AM)

    Here, the poet is pining for a lost love. His wife, it seems.10 (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: music, fairy, autumn, lost, pain, god, heart, night, song, wind, dream



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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