Classic Poem

There's not a sound tonight.
I look out and am beaten
In my face by curious, white
Unexpected flakes
Of snow in a daze fleeting.

And retire shivering to
The warm room and the lamplight,
Where my music waits, and O
Ben Jonson lies . . .
To delight my man's nature with his great spirit.

O warmth! O golden light!
O books behind me waiting
Their turn for my love's thought . . .
Turning from work
To wrap myself in a past life of golden lighting.

Music must flow with his power, I
Bend over my task and am hard
At wrestling with the stuff for mastery
That is dumb music now—
My spirit and I wrestle, you may hear us breathing hard.

Was there ever any Love could draw me
Out of my true way of work and action?
Yes, one there was, but Time has dared show me
(A soldier and maker)
That Time dares all things, and defies ever question.