Twilight Music

KNOW you the low pervading breezeThat softly singsIn the trembling leaves of twilight trees,As if the wind were dreaming on its wings?And have you marked their still degreesOf ebbing melody, like the stringsOf a silver harp swept by a spirit’s handIn some strange glimmering land,’Mid gushing springs,And glisteningsOf waters and of planets, wild and grand!And have you marked in that still timeThe chariots of those shining carsBrighten upon the hushing dark,And bent to harkThat Voice, amid the poplar and the lime,Pause in the dilating lustreOf the spheral cluster;Pause but to renew its sweetness, deepAs dreams of heaven to souls that sleep!And felt, despite earth’s jarring wars,When day is doneAnd dead the sun,Still a voice divine can sing,Still is there sympathy can bringA whisper from the stars!Ah, with this sentience quickly will you knowHow like a tree I tremble to the tonesOf your sweet voice!How keenly I rejoiceWhen in me with sweet motions slowThe spiritual music ebbs and moans—Lives in the lustre of those heavenly eyes,Dies in the light of its own paradise,—Dies, and relives eternal from its death,Immortal melodies in each deep breath;Sweeps thro’ my being, bearing up to theeMyself, the weight of its eternity;Till, nerved to life from its ordeal fire,It marries music with the human lyre,Blending divine delight with loveliest desire.