That Music Always Round Me (1891)
That music always round me, unceasing, unbeginning, yet long
untaught I did not hear,
But now the chorus I hear and am elated,
A tenor, strong, ascending with power and health, with glad notes
of daybreak I hear,
A soprano at intervals sailing buoyantly over the tops of immense
A transparent base shuddering lusciously under and through the
The triumphant tutti, the funeral wailings with sweet flutes and
violins, all of these I fill myself with,
I hear not the volumes of sound merely, I am moved by the
I listen to the different voices winding in and out, striving,
contending with fiery vehemence to excel each other in
I do not think the performers know themselves—but now I think I
begin to know them.
Walter Whitman (1819-1892) was an American poet, essayist and journalist. “America’s most significant nineteenth century poet”. His main themes: love, nature, friendship, democracy, soul and death.
Hymn to the Night (1839)
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls!
I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
Stoop o’er me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
As of the one I love.
I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
Like some old poet’s rhymes.
From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,—
From those deep cisterns flows.
O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care
And they complain no more.
Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
The best-beloved Night!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, (1807 – 1882) an American poet and educator.
The subtlest strain a great musician weaves,
Cannot attain in rhythmic harmony
To music in his soul. May it not be
Celestial lyres send hints to him? He grieves
That half the sweetness of the song, he leaves
Unheard in the transition. Thus do we
Yearn to translate the wondrous majesty
Of some rare mood, when the rapt soul receives
A vision exquisite. Yet who can match
The sunset’s iridescent hues? Who sing
The skylark’s ecstasy so seraph-fine?
We struggle vainly, still we fain would catch
Such rifts amid life’s shadows, for they bring
Glimpses ineffable of things divine.
Henrietta Cordelia Ray (1849 – 1916), African-American poet and teacher.
Dave Brubeck Quartet – Unsquare Dance – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDB4K5zCcfk
Haim – Honey and I – https://youtu.be/J4NrhoJ1Dvc