Posts Tagged ‘music’


Laid him low,
But in death, still high.


photo by Dez Pain at


* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/

© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.


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The merry World did on a day
With his train-bands and mates agree
To meet together, where I lay,
And all in sport to jeer at me. 

First, Beauty crept into a rose,
Which when I plucked not, “Sir,” said she,
“Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those?” –
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 

Then Money came, and clinking still,
“What tune is this, poor man?” said he:
“I heard in Music you had skill.”
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then came brave Glory puffing by
In silks that whistled – who but he?
He scarce allowed me half an eye –
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 

Then came quick Wit and Conversation,
And he would needs a comfort be,
And, to be short, make an oration –
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 

Yet when the hour of Thy design
To answer these fine things shall come,
Speak not at large, say, I am Thine,
And then they have the answer home.


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The trees along this city street,
Save for the traffic and the trains,
Would make a sound as thin and sweet
As trees in country lanes.

And people standing in their shade
Out of a shower, undoubtedly
Would hear such music as is made
Upon a country tree.

Oh, little leaves that are so dumb
Against the shrieking city air,
I watch you when the wind has come, –
I know what sound is there.

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You and I, and that night, with its perfume and glory! –
The scent of the locusts – the light of the moon;
And the violin weaving the waltzers a story,
Enmeshing their feet in the weft of the tune,
……Till their shadows uncertain
……Reeled round on the curtain,
While under the trellis we drank in the June.

Soaked through the midnight the cedars were sleeping,
Their shadowy tresses outlined in the bright
Crystal, moon-smitten mists, where the fountain’s heart, leaping
Forever, forever burst, full with delight;
……And its lisp on my spirit
……Fell faint as that near it
Whose love like a lily boomed out in the night.

O your glove was an odorous sachet of blisses!
The breath of your fan was a breeze from Cathay!
And the rose at your throat was nest of spilled kisses! –
And the music! – in fancy I hear it today,
……As I sit here, confessing
……Our secret, and blessing
My rival who found us, and waltzed you away.

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Somehow without the cold wet waves
I feel, subconsciously,
I must be sinking, for I hummed,
“Nearer my God to thee.”


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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