Vachel Lindsay

Written for a Musician

Hungry for music with a desperate hunger 
I prowled abroad, I threaded through the town; 
The evening crowd was clamoring and drinking, 
Vulgar and pitiful--my heart bowed down-- 
Till I remembered duller hours made noble 
By strangers clad in some suprising grace. 
Wait, wait my soul, your music comes ere midnight 
Appearing in some unexpected place 
With quivering lips, and gleaming, moonlit face.