Music At Twilight

I OH, give me music in the twilight hour! Then, skilled musician! thou of the magic power, Summon the souls of masters long since gone Who through thine art live on! As the day dies I would once more respire The passion of that spirit whose keen fire Flashes and flames in yearning and unrest And never-ending quest. Or listen to the quick, electric tones, Or moods of majesty, of him who owns The secret of the thrill that shakes the earth And moves the stars in mirth. And I would walk the shore of sound with him Whose voice was as the voice of cherubim: Musician most authentic and sublime Of all the sons of time. Bring their deep joys, the breath of solitudes Dear dreams and longings, and high, hero moods; Aye, bring me their melodious despairs To die in twilight airs. For, given a rhythmic voice, re-uttered so, Sorrow itself is lost in the large flow Of nature; and of life is made such part As doth enrich the heart; And on the tide of music, to my soul Shall enter beauty's solace, —life be whole, Not broken by chords discordant, but most sweet, In sequent tones complete. II Great is the true interpreter, for like No other art, two sentient souls must strike The spark of music that in blackness lies 'Mid silent harmonies, Till, at a cunning touch, the long-lost theme Newly imagined, and new-born in dream, Clothed gloriously in garment of sweet sound Wakes from its darkened swound. So would I ask, Musician! of thy grace That thou would'st bless and sanctify the place With august harmonies, well-loved of old; — But from thy manifold Miraculous memory fail not of thine own Imaginings enraptured of pure tone, That I may nearer draw to music's shrine, And mystery divine.