CHOPIN.
Calm is the close of the day,
All things are quiet and blest;
Low in the darkening west
The young moon sinks slowly away.
All things are quiet and blest;
Low in the darkening west
The young moon sinks slowly away.
Without, in the twilight, I dream:
Within it is cheerful and bright
With faces that bloom in the light,
And the cold keys that silently gleam.
Within it is cheerful and bright
With faces that bloom in the light,
And the cold keys that silently gleam.
Then a magical touch draws near,
And a voice like a call of delight
Cleaves the calm of the beautiful night.
And I turn from my musing to hear.
And a voice like a call of delight
Cleaves the calm of the beautiful night.
And I turn from my musing to hear.
Lo! the movement too wondrous to name!
Agitation and rapture, the press
As of myriad waves that caress,
And break into vanishing flame.
Agitation and rapture, the press
As of myriad waves that caress,
And break into vanishing flame.
