Serenade
When on the piano's dark, rocks and white seas Your naked fingers hurl themselves at will, Hungrily to my heart like queenless bees Cling Sorrow, Pride and Love. Your fingers fill The empty cup that lies between our lips With moisture ethereal, and I see music rise. A stormy spirit, from your finger-tips; Music, shrouded in eternity's deep eyes, Now languorous, nou) busy at her task Of resurrection among worlds and men, I dream of loOe and tombs. I do not ask That you should ever think of me again. But, as your fingers strike the shrinking keys, I sink u)ith them below the broken seas. —Eve Langlcy.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZH19401109.2.144.38.3
Bibliographic details
New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVII, Issue 23809, 9 November 1940, Page 6 (Supplement)
Word Count
109Serenade New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVII, Issue 23809, 9 November 1940, Page 6 (Supplement)
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Acknowledgements
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