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