Poem by Robert Seymour Bridges

To Joseph Joachim

Belov'd of all to whom that Muse is dear
Who hid her spirit of rapture from the Greek,
Whereby our art excelleth the antique,
Perfecting formal beauty to the ear;
Thou that hast been in England many a year
The interpreter who left us nought to seek,
Making Beethoven's inmost passion speak,
Bringing the soul of great Sebastian near.
Their music liveth ever, and 'tis just
That thou, good Joachim, so high thy skill,
Rank (as thou shalt upon the heavenly hill)
Laurel'd with them, for thy ennobling trust
Remember'd when thy loving hand is still
And every ear that heard thee stopt with dust. 

1. Shorter Poems. Book IV. 13. The Windmill
2. Shorter Poems. Book IV. 4. “The Clouds Have Left the Sky”
3. Shorter Poems. Book IV. 7. “Gáy Róbin Is Seen No More”
4. Shorter Poems. Book IV. 23. “The storm is over, the land hushes to rest”
5. Shorter Poems. Book IV. 10. “O Love, my muse, how was’t for me”

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