Music For The Dying. From The French Of Sully Prudhomme
Ye who will help me in my dying pain, Speak not a word: let all your voices cease. Let me but hear some soft harmonious strain, And I shall die at peace. Music entrances, soothes, and grants relief From all below by which we are opprest; I pray you, speak no word unto my grief, But lull it into rest. Tired am I of all words, and tired of aught That may some falsehood from the ear conceal, Desiring rather sounds which ask no thought, Which I need only feel: A melody in whose delicious streams The soul may sink, and pass without a breath From fevered fancies into quiet dreams, From dreaming into death.
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"Ye who will help me in my dying pain,..."
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