CHOPIN'S FUNERAL MARCH
The keyboard black and white;
Shadow-Light the Evening's scale;
Half silent the voice of thy singing.
Quiver the notes in pain;
Exquisite, sad, the melody at thy touch;
Like the silver arrow of Desire
Piercing the Soul's golden heart.
The room is lost in dark.
The ivory keys, white fringe
Of a music long since mute;
Yet, in the black night
Tremble and toss notes
Unheard, undreamt,—like sleep
Sleepless, and waking full of smart.
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In the golden afterglow you lay,
When the emerald moon
Made thin silver fog-veils
For the bride of night,
Whose saffron-sandled feet
Walked the foam-strewn floor of the sea.
In my arms you listened
To words of love
Poured by the infinite heaven of my heart,
Echoed by the endless symphony of the sky.
Your silent gaze,
Deeper than the song of the sea,
Farther than the moon,
Nearer than your own heart-beat,
Asked mine for speech.
"What can my love say
At this sad sacred hour?"
Hour of parting this!
Love's ever-feared moment,
Longing's much-dreaded end,
Yet no voice sorrows in our being,
No woe dims the moon-face tonight.
Between the sheltering dunes and fading light
On an aërial couch lying,
Adorned in kiss-woven garments of nudity
Our spirits garlanded with myriad embraces,
Borne on passion's flaming wings
Cross this ocean of parting
Unto that far island of Cythera
Where only love reigns
In eternal majesty.