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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508468" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Music In The Bush</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O'er the dark pines she sees the silver moon,<br> And in the west, all tremulous, a star;<br>And soothing sweet she hears the mellow tune<br> Of cow-bells jangled in the fields afar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Quite listless, for her daily stent is done,<br> She stands, sad exile, at her rose-wreathed door,<br>And sends her love eternal with the sun<br> That goes to gild the land she'll see no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The grave, gaunt pines imprison her sad gaze,<br> All still the sky and darkling drearily;<br>She feels the chilly breath of dear, dead days<br> Come sifting through the alders eerily.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, how the roses riot in their bloom!<br> The curtains stir as with an ancient pain;<br>Her old piano gleams from out the gloom<br> And waits and waits her tender touch in vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But now her hands like moonlight brush the keys<br> With velvet grace -- melodious delight;<br>And now a sad refrain from over seas<br> Goes sobbing on the bosom of the night;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now she sings. (O! singer in the gloom,<br> Voicing a sorrow we can ne'er express,<br>Here in the Farness where we few have room<br> Unshamed to show our love and tenderness,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our hearts will echo, till they beat no more,<br> That song of sadness and of motherland;<br>And, stretched in deathless love to England's shore,<br> Some day she'll hearken and she'll understand.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A prima-donna in the shining past,<br> But now a mother growing old and gray,<br>She thinks of how she held a people fast<br> In thrall, and gleaned the triumphs of a day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She sees a sea of faces like a dream;<br> She sees herself a queen of song once more;<br>She sees lips part in rapture, eyes agleam;<br> She sings as never once she sang before.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She sings a wild, sweet song that throbs with pain,<br> The added pain of life that transcends art --<br>A song of home, a deep, celestial strain,<br> The glorious swan-song of a dying heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A lame tramp comes along the railway track,<br> A grizzled dog whose day is nearly done;<br>He passes, pauses, then comes slowly back<br> And listens there -- an audience of one.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She sings -- her golden voice is passion-fraught,<br> As when she charmed a thousand eager ears;<br>He listens trembling, and she knows it not,<br> And down his hollow cheeks roll bitter tears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She ceases and is still, as if to pray;<br> There is no sound, the stars are all alight --<br>Only a wretch who stumbles on his way,<br> Only a vagrant sobbing in the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</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=508468" data-title="Music In The Bush de Robert William Service" data-description="O'er the dark pines she sees the silver moon,
 And in the west, all tremulous, a star;
And soothing sweet she hears the mellow tune
 Of cow-bells jangled in the fields afar.

Quite listless, for her daily stent is done,
 She stands, sad exile, at ..."></div>
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