Two sonnets, one for a dead musician, one for a living one.
---
For Henry Purcell
They say that words are powerful; and yet
Bare words alone may be misunderstood,
Twisted to evil from intended good,
Robbed of their vision, overturned, upset.
Bare words have dignity and look not ill,
But Henry Purcell came with cloth of gold
And made them clothing wondrous to behold,
To show them truer yet and fairer still.
Words meant for worship, wonder, love and praise,
Words from the quiet solitude of prayer,
Words sobbed in bitter consciousness of sin,
Words of the prophets on the final days;
He wrought them melodies with subtle care
To light for all the truth that stands within.
---
Untitled
Cantor supreme, whose sure and subtle tone
Has infinite expression at its call
And sets each listening heart in happy thrall,
Rejoice, for yet this gift is not your own.
Lent for a while by God, whose generous hand
Endows each soul with gifts for all to share,
Such is the nature of your talent rare,
Deep-woven in the paths that he has planned.
And so no burden shall it be to you,
No arrogance upon your spirit weighs
In spite of all the vagaries of fame:
Ever the heart that rules the voice rings true.
Let then that voice, until the end of days,
Sing praise and glory to his holy name.
---
For Henry Purcell
They say that words are powerful; and yet
Bare words alone may be misunderstood,
Twisted to evil from intended good,
Robbed of their vision, overturned, upset.
Bare words have dignity and look not ill,
But Henry Purcell came with cloth of gold
And made them clothing wondrous to behold,
To show them truer yet and fairer still.
Words meant for worship, wonder, love and praise,
Words from the quiet solitude of prayer,
Words sobbed in bitter consciousness of sin,
Words of the prophets on the final days;
He wrought them melodies with subtle care
To light for all the truth that stands within.
---
Untitled
Cantor supreme, whose sure and subtle tone
Has infinite expression at its call
And sets each listening heart in happy thrall,
Rejoice, for yet this gift is not your own.
Lent for a while by God, whose generous hand
Endows each soul with gifts for all to share,
Such is the nature of your talent rare,
Deep-woven in the paths that he has planned.
And so no burden shall it be to you,
No arrogance upon your spirit weighs
In spite of all the vagaries of fame:
Ever the heart that rules the voice rings true.
Let then that voice, until the end of days,
Sing praise and glory to his holy name.