Music I Heard in
General
Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.
Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.
For it was in my heart that you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,
—They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.
By Conrad Aiken
Tell Your Friends About It |
Print This Poem
Comments
You should be logged in to be able to leave comments
Other poems by Conrad Aiken:
|
Poetic People is a service mark of Broken Entity Media.