FOR some abiding central source of power, <br />Strong-smitten steady chords, ye seem to flow <br />And, flowing, carry virtue. Far below, <br />The vain tumultuous passions of the hour <br />Fleet fast and disappear; and as the sun <br />Shines on the wake of tempests, there is cast <br />O'er all the shattered ruins of my past <br />A strong contentment as of battles won. <br /> <br />And yet I cry in anguish, as I hear <br />The long drawn pageant of your passage roll <br />Magnificently forth into the night. <br />To yon fair land ye come from, to yon sphere <br />Of strength and love where now ye shape your flight, <br />O even wings of music, bear my soul! <br /> <br />Ye have the power, if but ye had the will, <br />Strong-smitten steady chords in sequence grand, <br />To bear me forth into that tranquil land <br />Where good is no more ravelled up with ill; <br />Where she and I, remote upon some hill <br />Or by some quiet river's windless strand, <br />May live, and love, and wander hand in hand, <br />And follow nature simply, and be still. <br /> <br />From this grim world, where, sadly, prisoned, we <br />Sit bound with others' heart-strings as with chains, <br />And, if one moves, all suffer, - to that Goal, <br />If such a land, if such a sphere, there be, <br />Thither, from life and all life's joys and pains, <br />O even wings of music, bear my soul!<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/music-at-the-villa-marina/
