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The German Band Post by :palomagower Category :Poems Author :John Presland Date :November 2011 Read :3621

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The German Band

When I was a little child
And lived very near the sky,
A German band was wonderful music
That could almost make me cry.

It was to me of a beauty
That I could not understand,
Though I dimly guessed at sorrow and joy
In a grown-up distant land.

All that I know with the years,
Much that I never shall know,
Was in my heart when the music came
In such guise, years ago.

And now when on Friday mornings
I hear my own child run,
When the German band in the street starts playing,
The wonder is never done;

The wonder at ways that our spirit
May take for itself to rise,
How a puddle may be a silver lake,
And a chimney touch the skies.

All the forms through which spirit
Yearns and strives to be known
Are only a little greater or less,
For great is the Spirit alone.

(The end)
John Presland's poem: German Band

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Street Music Street Music

Street Music
I There comes an old man to our street, Dragging his knobby, lame old feet, Once a week he comes and stands, A concertina in his hands, There in the gutter stops and plays, No matter fine or rainy days --Very humble and very old-- Pavement's for them who make so bold! Prim, starched nurses, and ladies fair With taffeta dresses and shining hair, And gay little children, who break and run To give him a penny--he seems to feel (Out-at-elbows and out-at-heel) That they've a right

An August Night, 1914 An August Night, 1914

An August Night, 1914
The light has gone from the West; the wind has gone From the quiet trees in the Park; From the houses the open windows yellowly shine, The streets are softly dark; Row upon row the twisted chimneys stand, Each angle sharply lined, And the mass of the Institute rises, tower and dome, Black on the sky behind; Green is the sky, like some strange precious stone, Dark, it yet holds the light In its depths, like a bright thing shrouded over or veiled By the creeping shadow of night;