Elliott Carter - The Harmony of Morning
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The Harmony of morning
And a thrush's throat among the sleep deserted boughs
Expiring mists that murmur all the day of a clear dusk, with music at the close;
Night madrigal and round: there is no word melodious as those
Rage of the viol whose deep and shady room is sounded to a tempest by the strings;
Sweet keys depressed, swift rise upon a note, whence all the narrow soul of music hangs;
The reed, and horns agreeing: Words in the wake of these are scrannel gongs
In them another music, half of sound and half of something taciturn between;
In them another ringing, ringing, not for еars, Not loud;
But in the chambers of a brain are bеlls that clap an answer when the words move orderly
With truth among the train, When the words move, but in the chambers of a brain are bells
That clap an answer When the words move
When the words move orderly, with truth among the train
And a thrush's throat among the sleep deserted boughs
Expiring mists that murmur all the day of a clear dusk, with music at the close;
Night madrigal and round: there is no word melodious as those
Rage of the viol whose deep and shady room is sounded to a tempest by the strings;
Sweet keys depressed, swift rise upon a note, whence all the narrow soul of music hangs;
The reed, and horns agreeing: Words in the wake of these are scrannel gongs
In them another music, half of sound and half of something taciturn between;
In them another ringing, ringing, not for еars, Not loud;
But in the chambers of a brain are bеlls that clap an answer when the words move orderly
With truth among the train, When the words move, but in the chambers of a brain are bells
That clap an answer When the words move
When the words move orderly, with truth among the train
