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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=386649" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Chopin</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A dream of interlinking hands, of feet <br>Tireless to spin the unseen, fairy woof <br>Of the entangling waltz. Bright eyebeams meet, <br>Gay laughter echoes from the vaulted roof. <br>Warm perfumes rise; the soft unflickering glow <br>Of branching lights sets off the changeful charms <br>Of glancing gems, rich stuffs, the dazzling snow <br>Of necks unkerchieft, and bare, clinging arms. <br>Hark to the music! How beneath the strain <br>Of reckless revelry, vibrates and sobs <br>One fundamental chord of constant pain, <br>The pulse-beat of the poet's heart that throbs. <br>So yearns, though all the dancing waves rejoice, <br>The troubled sea's disconsolate, deep voice. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who shall proclaim the golden fable false <br>Of Orpheus' miracles? This subtle strain <br>Above our prose-world's sordid loss and gain <br>Lightly uplifts us. With the rhythmic waltz, <br>The lyric prelude, the nocturnal song <br>Of love and languor, varied visions rise, <br>That melt and blend to our enchanted eyes. <br>The Polish poet who sleeps silenced long, <br>The seraph-souled musician, breathes again <br>Eternal eloquence, immortal pain. <br>Revived the exalted face we know so well, <br>The illuminated eyes, the fragile frame, <br>Slowly consuming with its inward flame, <br>We stir not, speak not, lest we break the spell. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A voice was needed, sweet and true and fine <br>As the sad spirit of the evening breeze, <br>Throbbing with human passion, yet devine <br>As the wild bird's untutored melodies. <br>A voice for him 'neath twilight heavens dim, <br>Who mourneth for his dead, while round him fall <br>The wan and noiseless leaves. A voice for him <br>Who sees the first green sprout, who hears the call <br>Of the first robin on the first spring day. <br>A voice for all whom Fate hath set apart, <br>Who, still misprized, must perish by the way, <br>Longing with love, for that they lack the art <br>Of their own soul's expression. For all these <br>Sing the unspoken hope, the vague, sad reveries. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Nature shaped a poet's heart--a lyre <br>From out whose chords the lightest breeze that blows <br>Drew trembling music, wakening sweet desire. <br>How shall she cherish him? Behold! she throws <br>This precious, fragile treasure in the whirl <br>Of seething passions; he is scourged and stung, <br>Must dive in storm-vext seas, if but one pearl <br>Of art or beauty therefrom may be wrung. <br>No pure-browed pensive nymph his Muse shall be, <br>An amazon of thought with sovereign eyes, <br>Whose kiss was poison, man-brained, worldy-wise, <br>Inspired that elfin, delicate harmony. <br>Rich gain for us! But with him is it well? <br>The poet who must sound earth, heaven, and hell!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Emma+Lazarus">Emma Lazarus</a><div class=q>
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A dream of interlinking hands, of feet 
Tireless to spin the unseen, fairy woof 
Of the entangling waltz. Bright eyebeams meet, 
Gay laughter echoes from the vaulted roof. 
Warm perfumes rise; the soft unflickering glow 
Of branching lights set..."></div>
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