Peter |
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Home Chicago Cool Tombs Haze Pater Take Me Out to the Ball Game The Elfin Artist The Loom of Years Gazes The Bivouac of the Dead The Old Pioneer All Night I Lingered at the Beach Nocturne Sentimental Stuff Miners The Kaiser and God Martin Luther at Potsdam Converseshoes Convers EccoShoes Danskoshoes Danskos Dansco Just as my fingers on these keys Make music, so the self-same sounds On my spirit make a music, too. Cheap AirTickets Americanstandard Music is feeling, then, not sound; And thus it is that what I feel, Here in this room, desiring you, Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk, Is music. It is like the strain Waked in the elders by Susanna: Corelle Dinnerware Correlle Dinnerware Of a green evening, clear and warm, She bathed in her still garden, while The red-eyed elders, watching, felt The basses of their beings throb In witching chords, and their thin blood Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna. II In the green water, clear and warm, Susanna lay. She searched The torch of Springs, And found Concealed imaginings. She sighed, For so much melody. Upon the bank, she stood In the cool Of spent emotions. She felt, among the leaves, The dew Of old devotions. She walked upon the grass, Still quavering. The winds were like her maids, On timid feet, Fetching her woven scarves, Yet wavering. Steve Maden Shoes Bandalino Shoes Deisel Shoes A breath upon her hand Muted the night. She turned-- A cymbal crashed, And roaring horns. |