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Poem by Florence Earle Coates


Israphel


A dreamer midst the stars doth dwell,
Known to the gods as Israphel.
⁠⁠     His heart-strings are a lute;
And when, the magic notes outpouring,
He parts his lips, the gods, adoring,
⁠⁠     Listen in transport mute,
Subdued and softened by the spell
Of the dreamer, Israphel!

And mortals, when they hear him, start,
And, full of wonder, call himArt,
⁠⁠     And, fain his gift to gain,
Essay to imitate the fashion
Of his rare song, and breathe its passion,
     ⁠⁠But, ah, they strive in vain;
For his song is more than art,
Whose lute-strings are his heart!

And others, unto whom he wings
The sweetest melodies he sings,
     ⁠⁠In worship, name himLove;
Yet longing the pure strain to capture,
When at the very height of rapture,
     ⁠⁠A sadness oft approve,
And fancy, strangely, that he wrings
The music from their own heart-strings!



Florence Earle Coates


Florence Earle Coates's other poems:
  1. Veiled
  2. Before the Hour
  3. Sappho
  4. Wouldst Thou Learn?
  5. Song (For Me the Jasmine Buds Unfold)


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