Poem by Sarah Orne Jewett

Two Musicians

     I.

WHEN one with skillful fingers swift as wind
Swept to and fro along the glittering keys,
I said: I wish I were away from these
Clattering and noisy players! but resigned
Myself to listen, and I tried to seize
Upon some meaning in the tune I heard.
But in my ears the harsh notes rang and whirred;
It was as if I listened carelessly
Among a crowd of people coarse and rude,
Who talked in shrillest tones of grudge or feud,
Though only seldom one could catch a word.
Even their voices were a bore to me;
I pictured their dull faces, till released
From such companions, when the music ceased.

    II.

But when the second player struck a note
And fingered softly out a gentle air--
It was like coming from that turmoil where
I waited, to a light Venetian boat,
Idly to glide among the shadows, there
Where one may drift and dream; and suddenly
One deep sweet voice sang such a song to me.
I listened, and I followed far away--
No music ever sent me so astray,--
I never could call back the tale it told,
But all the world seemed lost, as when, one day,
I laid me down upon a high cliff's crest,
Warm with the sunshine, there alone to rest,
While far below the great waves shoreward rolled. 

1. At Home from Church
2. Verses
3. The Widow's House
4. A Child's Grave
5. In a Christmas Letter

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