Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/418

39 "HOW STRANGE THE MUSICIAN'S MEMORY"

"IN A NIGHT OF MIDSUMMER"

a night of midsummer, on the still eastern shore of the ocean inlet,

In our hearts a sense of the inaudible pulsings of the unseen, infinite sea,

Suddenly through the clear, cool air, arose the voice of a wonderful tenor; soaring and sobbing in the music of "Otello."

I knew that the singer was long dead; I knew well that it was not his living voice;

And yet truly it was as the voice of a living man; tho' heard as through a veil, still was it human; still was it living; still was it tragic;

Still felt I the fire of the spirit of a man; I was moved by the passion of his art; I perceived the flower and essence of his person; the exquisite expression of his mind and soul;

His soul it was that seized my soul, through his voice, which was as the very voice of sorrow;

And then I thought: If man, by science and searching, can build a cunning instrument that takes over and keeps, beyond the term of human existence, the essence and flower of a man's art;