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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341479" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Silent Muse</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">``Why have you silent been so long?''<br>In tones of mild rebuke you ask.<br>Know you not, kindly friend, that Song<br>Is the ``Gay Science,'' not a task?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is but when it pleaseth God<br>The blackthorn blows, the acorns fall;<br>The Muse ignores a mortal's nod,<br>And will not come to beck and call.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If I, to catch the ear of men,<br>Should go on singing day by day,<br>What other, better, were I then,<br>Than screeching chough or scolding jay?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But save the unseen source be stirred,<br>The happy numbers will not flow:<br>Then one is like a songless bird<br>That crouches in the drifted snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Say, did you ever sit and dream,<br>When summer clouds are white and still,<br>Beside a slow unsounding stream<br>That winds below some rustic mill?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The languid current scarcely moves;<br>At times you almost doubt it flows;<br>Loitering in shallow sandy grooves,<br>It makes no music as it goes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sluice is down, the mill-race still,<br>Nor in mid-stream nor water's edge<br>Comes faintest ripple, tiniest rill,<br>To stir the flag, or sway the sedge.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beside the dozing stream you doze,<br>For nothing wakes in air or sky:<br>It feels as if Time's eyelids close,<br>And 'tis the same to live or die;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To be a passive part of all<br>That rounds Heaven's universal plan,<br>Of things that soar, of things that crawl,<br>Of mindless matter, as of man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When slowly through the noonday sleep<br>A phantom something seems to stir,<br>Like waves of dewy light that creep<br>Along gray chords of gossamer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At first it is nor sight nor sound,<br>But feeling only, inward sense<br>Of motion slowly rising round,<br>You know not where, you know not whence.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then, noiseless still, but plain to see,<br>The languid waters wake and wind;<br>The wave before now fears to be<br>O'ertaken by the wave behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The race, long pent, from out the mill<br>Comes rushing, rippling, gleam on gleam;<br>The runnels rise, the shallows fill,<br>And deep and happy flows the stream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lazy sedges sway and swerve,<br>The reedmace rocks its heavy head;<br>Past many a bend, and bay, and curve,<br>The river revels through its bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And as it twists, and curls, and sweels,<br>From out its leaping heart there come<br>Sounds sweet as far-off village bells,<br>Or swarming bee-hive's honeyed hum.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through quaking grass and waving weed<br>Rises and falls the river-theme;<br>Vibrating rush and trembling reed<br>Are but the harpstrings of the stream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once more the gold-ribbed gravel trills<br>With quavering trebles clear and cool,<br>Blent with the deeper note that fills<br>The plunging weir and swirling pool.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bed, bank and channel, chant and chime,<br>And fall and freshet, as they run,<br>Though ignorant of tune and time,<br>Sing in melodious unison.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so, if I be shaped to sing<br>What kindly hearts are pleased to hear,<br>And blissful were did Nature bring<br>A rush of music all the year;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seasons there are it doth not flow,<br>When Fancy's freshets will not come,<br>The springs of song seem shrunk and low,<br>And all my being dry and dumb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When suddenly from far-off source,<br>Unseen, unsounding, deep, immense,<br>Something, with swift resistless force,<br>Flushes the heart and floods the sense;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And as though Heaven and Earth did drain<br>Into that deep mysterious spring,<br>Brims all the windings of the brain;<br>Then like replenished stream I sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The will can not the stream control,<br>Its currents are divinely sent,<br>And thought and feeling, mind and soul,<br>Are rapt in rhythmic ravishment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And on they flow, when once they start,<br>To some ordained but unguessed goal,<br>Through all the channels of the heart,<br>And all the reaches of the soul.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then come the wingëd words that skim<br>The surface of earth's discontent<br>To soar up to the ether dim,<br>Faint heard from far-off firmament.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, till the music stirs and swells<br>Within my breast, forbearing be;<br>Nor lightly waken slumbering bells<br>Above a silent sanctuary!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Austin">Alfred Austin</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341479" data-title="The Silent Muse de Alfred Austin" data-description="``Why have you silent been so long?''
In tones of mild rebuke you ask.
Know you not, kindly friend, that Song
Is the ``Gay Science,'' not a task?

It is but when it pleaseth God
The blackthorn blows, the acorns fall;
The Muse ignores a mortal's no..."></div>
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