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To while away- forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.You sang not deeds of heroes or of kings;
No chant of bloody war, no exulting pean
Of arms-won triumphs; but your humble stringsWho ride the storm and mock the bow's taut strings,
Exiled on earth amid a jeering crowd,
Prisoned and palsied by their giant wings.Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion bringsUpon the bottom of a king of kings;
World-famous golden-thighed Pythagoras
Fingered upon a fiddle-stick or stringsResponds,--as if with unseen wings,
An angel touched its quivering strings;We must get home--home to the simple things--
The morning-glories twirling up the stringsAnd O, the red apples, and pop-corn on strings;
And balls of it, too, and nuts, candy and things;Nor yet a sweet consort from broken strings,
Nor perfect beauty where's a main defect:
My foolish, broken, blemished Muse so sings;From the which hung down by strings,
Balls of cowslips, daisy rings,That flies across to France, and sings
Like hitting thick piano-strings.Hidden stars by the shown stars' wings,
And a world with unapparent stringsUnharm'd, and on the strings
Paddles a little tune, and sings,While with low rustling wings,
Among the quivering stringsStrike, louder strike th'ennobling Strings
To those, whose Merchant Sons were Kings;Draps dey fingahs on de strings--
Bless yo' soul--fu'gits to move 'em,
When Malindy sings.This was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings--
A mode adopted since by modern youth.
Bows have they, generally with two strings;WHAT can you do with a woman's things
After a woman is dead?
Not the bracelets and rings and stringsWhere, deep in night, the Bard of Kings
Felt hands of fire direct his own,
And sweep for God the conscious strings.Had sunk to rest with folded wings:
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;