Something more wonderful assails the soul,
As, with exultant cries, up-curving, swift,
The shrill Walküre clamor against the sky,
Or pale Brünhilde moans her bitter fate.
WAGNER
This is the eternal mystery of art:
He told the secretest secret of his heart—
How many mortals, with quick-flaming brow,
Whispered, "Lo, this am I—and that art thou!"
"THE PATHETIC SYMPHONY"
(TSCHAIKOWSKY)
When the last movement fell, I thought: Ah, me!
Death this indeed; but still the music poured
On and still on. O, deathlier it grew,
And then, at last, my beating heart stood still—
Beyond all natural grief the music passing,
Beyond all tragedy, or last farewell.
Then, on that fatal tide, dismayed I felt
This living soul, my own, without one tear,
Slowly, irrevocably, and alone,
Enter the ultimate silence and the dark.
MACDOWELL
Rejoice! Rejoice!
The New World hath a voice;
A voice of tragedy and mirth,
Sounding clear through all the earth;
A voice of music, tender and sublime,
