Brahms! Thou hast ensnared Song’s carefree Muse
And charmed her with the eloquence of Age!
Studied Melancholy holds her in its cage
Wherein she languishes. She wants the use

Of youthful limbs for Passion’s artless joys,
Joys you deny her. How her song unites
Her sorrowful outpourings with imagined flights
Of the imprisoned lark! Her need employs

More graceful imag’ry to recreate
Its lost delight than the poet’s art
To span the inequalities that part
Him from his love! Yet, art survives the fate

Of imperfection; I, less perfect still,
Enjoy the triumphs of thy mighty will!

Copyright (2006) by Arnold Cantor.
All rights reserved.

[Written just before February 8, 1958. One of my very early poems,
it has been very slightly adjusted in 2006.]