James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
March 28Anton Seidl
By John Hall Ingham (18601931)N
A magic sequence of melodious sound,
Like tongues of living flame
That fire the sense and soul and all around
Shed gleams from heaven. The sway he wielded long
Was not the power of song.
Beloved of Pan and sylven deities,
Nor with the hopes that plead
Through strings that quiver into harmonies,
Hath he his triumphs won; not his that sign
Of mastery divine.
Into the faded festival of Time
Hath he fresh wonders brought.
No glorious ode nor symphony sublime
Sprang from his brain: the mystery of Art
He felt but in his heart.
On others’ hands and voices and the soul
Of the great world a spell
That the decrees of fate could not control
Nor the wild events of life: the misery
Ceased for a while to be.
Back rolled the ages: care and folly fled
Immortal Beauty’s reign,
O, not in vain in him that now lies dead
Was born that mighty spirit at whose breath
Genius awakes from death!