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The Poems of Sidney Lanier by Sidney Lanier
page 19 of 312 (06%)
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"Were it not for some circumstances which make such a proposition
seem absurd in the highest degree, I would think that I am shortly to die,
and that my spirit hath been singing its swan-song before dissolution.
All day my soul hath been cutting swiftly into the great space of the subtle,
unspeakable deep, driven by wind after wind of heavenly melody.
The very inner spirit and essence of all wind-songs, bird-songs,
passion-songs, folk-songs, country-songs, sex-songs, soul-songs and body-songs
hath blown upon me in quick gusts like the breath of passion,
and sailed me into a sea of vast dreams, whereof each wave is at once
a vision and a melody."
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Now fully determined to give himself to music and literature so long
as he could keep death at bay, he sought a land of books. Taking his flute
and his pen for sword and staff, he turned his face northward.
After visiting New York he made his home in Baltimore, December, 1873,
under engagement as first flute for the Peabody Symphony Concerts.

With his settlement in Baltimore begins a story of as brave and sad a struggle
as the history of genius records. On the one hand was the opportunity
for study, and the full consciousness of power, and a will never subdued;
and on the other a body wasting with consumption, that must be forced
to task beyond its strength not merely to express the thoughts of beauty
which strove for utterance, but from the necessity of providing bread
for his babes. His father would have had him return to Macon,
and settle down with him in business and share his income,
but that would have been the suicide of every duty and ambition.
So he wrote from Baltimore to his father, November 29, 1873:

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