When heav’nly song does ring upon
A poet’s lonely ear
The difficulty’s translating
What earthly methods hear
For ever song has come on high
From heaven’s very light
But little was it listened to
‘Til man gained deeper sight
It touches all, but some hear not
The cooing reds and blues
From skies of morning, day, and night
In all their heav’nly hues
Translating words from stars and sun
We’ll oft have a mistake
So all we can give is the best
Our simple minds can make
When music through my head begins to walk
I stumble for a moment, frozen there
I hesitate to move or start to talk
For fear the sounds will shortly leave the air.
I scramble for a pen, put ink to pad,
And furiously write the melody;
The passersby do surely find me mad—
I hear them not; only music I see.
And scribbling on the page I’m loath to find
The notes are ambling, drunken, to and fro;
The melody, that temptress, leaves my mind;
Leaving naught but a shadow she doth go.
And so I struggle, hoping, day by day,
For song’s return, this time not to go ‘way.
