To Silence by Alice Meynell — Read

"SPACE, THE BOUND OF A SOLID": SILENCE, THEN,

THE FORM OF A MELODY

Silence, for thine idleness I raise

My silence-bounded singing in thy praise,

But for thy moulding of my Mozart's tune,

Thy hold upon the bird that sings the moon,

Thy magisterial ways.

Man's lovely definite melody-shapes are thine,

Outlined, controlled, compressed, complete, divine.

Also thy fine intrusions do I trace, / Thy afterthoughts, thy wandering, thy grace, / Within the poet's line.

Thy secret is the song that is to be.

Music had never stature but for thee, / Sculptor! strong as the sculptor Space whose hand / Urged the Discobolus and bade him stand.

Man, on his way to Silence, stops to hear and see.