By Doña María - Posted on 25 October 2010

String Quartet No. 15 Op. 132 in A Major; Molto adagio

 

 


Walking on the gloom of wet tar, sleep being far away on all sides, empty streets about to be invaded by the sleepers who wake. Twiddling in both ears the light ballerina and her escort dancing as if it were Christmas in some London fairytale, lightly fiddle feet elfishly, sprightly dancing on all sides, stealing the day’s beauty and giving it to me in a psalm. Now low, viola, cello, long and soft fairies, taken by the wind high and flowing in the sea, low, building together as waves do and he- a sailor- taken and taking, crying people, partakers of pure communism, the share of due proportion, stealing from the beauty of the world and handing it to us, gently in an ear, and in the other, and behind our eyes, dancing, tears are the sweat of beauty, the perspiration of soulful exertion, stealing the beauty of the world and storing it in my heart, a public treasury, green spears of grass on rolling hills, the point of high string, and the earth of low, the public treasury for beauty’s polis.

 

All Praise