Music, and Other Poems

IX. IRIS

     Light to the eye and Music to the ear,—
     These are the builders of the bridge that springs
     From earths's dim shore of half-remembered things
     To reach the spirit's home, the heavenly sphere
     Where nothing silent is and nothing dark.
        So when I see the rainbow's arc
     Spanning the showery sky, far-off I hear
        Music, and every colour sings:
     And while the symphony builds up its round
     Full sweep of architectural harmony
     Above the tide of Time, far, far away I see
     A bow of colour in the bow of sound.

                 Red as the dawn the trumpet rings,
             Imperial purple from the trombone flows,
             The mellow horn melts into evening rose.
                 Blue as the sky, the choir of strings
             Darkens in double-bass to ocean's hue,
             Rises in violins to noon-tide's blue,
       With threads of quivering light shot through and through.
             Green as the mantle that the summer flings
             Around the world, the pastoral reeds in time
             Embroider melodies of May and June.
                   Yellow as gold,
                 Yea, thrice-refined gold,
             And purer than the treasures of the mine,
             Floods of the human voice divine
             Along the arch in choral song are rolled.
                 So bends the bow complete:
                 And radiant rapture flows
             Across the bridge, so full, so strong, so sweet,
             That the uplifted spirit hardly knows
              Whether the Music-Light that glows
       Within the arch of tones and colours seven
     Is sunset-peace of earth, or sunrise-joy of Heaven.