Rainbows (Custance)/Music

by Olive Custance

For works with similar titles, see Music.

Music

 

Within the room a mist of music risingBetween my weary soul and the clamorous world.While through the window floats another song of men's devisingFrom a fountain like a frail pale feather, cunningly upcurled.

That sky pomp, we call sunset, flares, slow windingIn long procession through the western gates ajar,With pageant of plumed purple gonfalons, and blindingProud flash of swords, it leaves us to the twilight, and one pale star.

And now the music storms with stern persistenceThe prison where my secret thoughts are shut apart,The marching melody beats down my tired resistanceAnd enters through the broken doors the citadel of my heart.

So my fair friend, unconscious of the magicPersuasion of her music, wakes a memory,Vivid and bitter, of a dead dream sweet and tragicThat once, one blue and silver springtide, seemed possible to me.