|I am in need of music that would flow|
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
|With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.|
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
|A song to fall like water on my head,|
And over quivering limbs, dreams flushed to glow!
|There is a magic made by melody:|
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
|Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep|
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea.
|And floats forever in the moon-green pool,|
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
Drawings - Aurel Schmidt
Words - Elizebeth Bishop