"Sweep thy faint strings, Musician,
With thy long lean hand;
Downward the starry tapers burn,
Sinks soft the waning sand;
The old hound whimpers couched in sleep,
The embers smoulder low;
Across the walls the shadows
Come, and go.
Sweep softly thy strings, Musician,
The minutes mount to hours;
Frost on the windless casement weaves
A labyrinth of flowers;
Ghosts linger in the darkening air,
Hearken at the open door;
Music hath called them, dreaming,
Home once more."
What an imagination wonderful What a description has been done on shadow
Beautifully conceived and communicated. Dreamy twilight of shadows. Truly a delight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
ever been doubleled crossed