AFTER MUSIC

Babette Deutsch

These eyes are strangely learned
In imaging each thing
Twinned by some sister shape:
The sombre cloud as the burned
Arabian wonder's pyre;
The pale spoil of the beach
As petal-drift of stone;
Winged serpents in the fire.
But the quick eyes must fail
When music moves to fill
The reaches of the mind,
Their skill is of no avail.
For what image can contain
The grieving of the strings,
The trumpets' triumph and threat?
Thought must fall back again
Before the majesty
And sweetness of those sounds
Whose superhuman joy
Is darkness to the eye.
Oh, on what do you brood
Heart blind with ecstasy,
When the low flutes call you
Home to beatitude?

poetryfoundation.org

Word of the Day

Today’s word: Petrichor (n.) — the smell of rain on dry earth.
What’s a word that sounds beautiful to you, no matter its meaning?

#WOTD #BeautifulWords