JUST WRITE IN THE "COMMENTS" SECTION!
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Experience, like a pale musician, holds
A dulcimer of patience in his hand,
Whence harmonies, we cannot understand,
Of God; will in his worlds, the strain unfolds
In sad-perplexed minors: deathly colds
Fall on us while we hear, and countermand
Our sanguine heart back from the fancy land
With nightingales in visionary worlds.
We murmur, 'Where is any certain tune
Or measured music in such notes as these?
But angels, leaning from the golden seat,
Are not so minded their fine ear hath won
The issue of completed cadences,
And, smiling down the stars, they whisper-
Sweet.
2 comments:
Can anyone interpret this poem? If so, just write in the comments section. Thanks.
The poem to interpret is Perplexed Music by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from the May 29th post.
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