Ye who will help me in my dying pain,
Speak not a word: let all your voices cease.
Let me but hear some soft harmonious strain,
And I shall die at peace.
Music entrances, soothes, and grants relief
From all below by which we are opprest;
I pray you, speak no word unto my grief,
But lull it into rest.
Tired am I of all words, and tired of aught
That may some falsehood from the ear conceal,
Desiring rather sounds which ask no thought,
Which I need only feel:
A melody in whose delicious streams
The soul may sink, and pass without a breath
From fevered fancies into quiet dreams,
From dreaming into death.
Music For The Dying. From The French Of Sully Prudhomme
Robert Fuller Murray
(1)
Poem topics: breath, death, feel, grief, music, pain, peace, pray, soul, hear, delicious, relief, soft, quiet, thought, melody, I love you, I miss you, speak, tired, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about Music For The Dying. From The French Of Sully Prudhomme poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Best Poems of Robert Fuller Murray