(November 10, 1879 – December 5, 1931 / Springfield, Illinois)

Written For A Musician

Hungry for music with a desperate hunger
I prowled abroad, I threaded through the town;
The evening crowd was clamoring and drinking,
Vulgar and pitiful--my heart bowed down--
Till I remembered duller hours made noble
By strangers clad in some suprising grace.
Wait, wait my soul, your music comes ere midnight
Appearing in some unexpected place
With quivering lips, and gleaming, moonlit face.

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Comments (1)

This is among my favorite poems of Lindsay. I wonder if music was really what he was hungry for. I'll admit that music is paired affectively w/ sex in this poem. But I do understand the hunger for melody- and that melody should only be exposed a little at a time- a sort of strip tease for the ear. ah oh well.