Music: A Monthly Magazine, Devoted to the Art, Science, Technic and Literature of Music, Volume 14

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W. S. B. Mathews, 1898 - Music
 

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Page 586 - And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument...
Page 592 - I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; Pray so ; and for the ordering your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own No other function.
Page 593 - Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them : There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious silver broke ; When down her weedy trophies, and herself, Fell in the weeping brook.
Page 274 - But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can, Existent behind all laws, that made them and, lo, they are! And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man, That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star.
Page 274 - All through my keys that gave their sounds to a wish of my soul, All through my soul that praised as its wish flowed visibly forth, All through music and me!
Page 592 - How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning?
Page 274 - And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground, Surveying awhile the heights I rolled from into the deep; Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my restingplace is found, The C Major of this life: so, now I will try to sleep.
Page 585 - The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Page 274 - Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign: I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce. Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again, Sliding by semitones, till I sink to the minor, — yes, And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground, .Surveying...
Page 594 - There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide ; And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up : Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes ; As one incapable of her own distress...

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