Poem Hunter
On Music
(28 May 1779 – 25 February 1852 / Dublin)

On Music

When through life unblest we rove,
Losing all that made life dear,
Should some notes we used to love,
In days of boyhood, meet our ear,
Oh! how welcome breathes the strain!
Wakening thoughts that long have slept,
Kindling former smiles again
In faded eyes that long have wept.

Like the gale, that sighs along
Beds of oriental flowers,
Is the grateful breath of song,
That once was heard in happier hours.
Fill'd with balm the gale sighs on,
Though the flowers have sunk in death;
So, when pleasure's dream is gone,
Its memory lives in Music's breath.

Music, oh, how faint, how weak,
Language fades before thy spell!
Why should Feeling ever speak,
When thou canst breathe her soul so well?
Friendship's balmy words may feign,
Love's are even more false than they;
Oh! 'tis only music's strain
Can sweetly soothe, and not betray.

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Comments (4)

The woman who reads these poems ruins them. She is absolutely dreadful. No inflexion and the most monotonous voice.
That last verse captures so well what every musician knows to his core! I knew a young boy who suffered from emotional trauma. When he heard Beethoven for the first time (at the age of 7 or 8) he remarked: How can Beethoven know how I am feeling?
Oh! Such truth in thy words For they revive my broken dreams Music as thy said Royalty undefined by words But believe when I only here retaliate `Tis beauty in words is sweet music to me
Music is a truly magical gift, one has to listen keenly to discover it