Music and Other Poems by Henry Van Dyke
page 11 of 65 (16%)
page 11 of 65 (16%)
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All the dancers move sedately,
Stepping leisurely and straitly, With a courtly mien; Crossing hands and changing places, Bowing low between, While the minuet inlaces Waving arms and woven paces,-- Glittering damaskeen. Where is she whose form is folden In its royal sheen? >From our longing eyes withholden By her mystic girdle golden, Beauty sought but never seen, Music walks the maze, a queen. VIII THE SYMPHONY Music, they do thee wrong who say thine art Is only to enchant the sense. For every timid motion of the heart, And every passion too intense To bear the chain of the imperfect word, And every tremulous longing, stirred By spirit winds that come we know not whence And go we know not where, And every inarticulate prayer Beating about the depths of pain or bliss, |
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