"This our opus / That binds in ligatures beloved and lover"
The gray felt daylong dusk of winter skies,
The golden, noontide braveries of midsummer,
Odors of harvest apples, the cursive lines
Of one known hand, pressed clover leaves between
The India paper leaves of Second Kings,
A voice, the expectation of a voice,
Quavers of light and semibreves of joy
Confirm the only magic of the world
Here where we fall transposingly in love.
Anthony Hecht, "A Love for Four Voices: Homage to Franz Joseph Haydn" (Hermia's coda)
The golden, noontide braveries of midsummer,
Odors of harvest apples, the cursive lines
Of one known hand, pressed clover leaves between
The India paper leaves of Second Kings,
A voice, the expectation of a voice,
Quavers of light and semibreves of joy
Confirm the only magic of the world
Here where we fall transposingly in love.
Anthony Hecht, "A Love for Four Voices: Homage to Franz Joseph Haydn" (Hermia's coda)