Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/238

210 A MEMORY OF RUBINSTEIN

PADEREWSKI

I

songs were perfume, color, wild desire;

If poet's words were fire

That burned to blood in purple-pulsing veins;

If with a bird-like thrill the moments throbbed to hours;

If summer's rains

Turned drop by drop to shy, sweet, maiden flowers;

If God made flowers with light and music in them,

And saddened hearts could win them;

If loosened petals touched the ground

With a caressing sound;

If love's eyes uttered word

No listening lover e'er before had heard;

If silent thoughts spake with a bugle's voice;

If flame passed into song and cried, "Rejoice! Rejoice!"

If words could picture life's, hope's, heaven's eclipse

When the last kiss has fallen on dying eyes and lips;

If all of mortal woe

Struck on one heart with breathless blow on blow;

If melody were tears, and tears were starry gleams

That shone in evening's amethystine dreams;

Ah, yes, if notes were stars, each star a different hue,

Trembling to earth in dew;