Music Comes

Music comes     Sweetly from the trembling string     When wizard fingers sweep     Dreamily, half asleep;     When through remembering reeds     Ancient airs and murmurs creep,     Oboe oboe following,     Flute answering clear high flute,     Voices, voices--falling mute,     And the jarring drums.     At night I heard     First a waking bird     Out of the quiet darkness sing....     Music comes     Strangely to the brain asleep!     And I heard     Soft, wizard fingers sweep     Music from the trembling string,     And through remembering reeds     Ancient airs and murmurs creep;     Oboe oboe following,     Flute calling clear high flute,     Voices faint, falling mute,     And low jarring drums;     Then all those airs     Sweetly jangled--newly strange,     Rich with change....     Was it the wind in the reeds?     Did the wind range     Over the trembling string;     Into flute and oboe pouring     Solemn music; sinking, soaring     Low to high,     Up and down the sky?     Was it the wind jarring     Drowsy far-off drums?     Strangely to the brain asleep     Music comes.