Verse > Anthologies > James and Mary Ford, eds. > Every Day in the Year
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James and Mary Ford, eds.  Every Day in the Year.  1902.
 
March 28
Anton Seidl
By John Hall Ingham (1860–1931)
 
(Died March 28, 1898)

  NOT from his throat there came
A magic sequence of melodious sound,
  Like tongues of living flame
That fire the sense and soul and all around
Shed gleams from heaven. The sway he wielded long        5
  Was not the power of song.
 
Not with the plaintive reed,
Beloved of Pan and sylven deities,
  Nor with the hopes that plead
Through strings that quiver into harmonies,        10
Hath he his triumphs won; not his that sign
  Of mastery divine.
 
Not from creative thought
Into the faded festival of Time
Hath he fresh wonders brought.        15
No glorious ode nor symphony sublime
Sprang from his brain: the mystery of Art
  He felt but in his heart.
 
  And from that heart there fell
On others’ hands and voices and the soul        20
  Of the great world a spell
That the decrees of fate could not control
Nor the wild events of life: the misery
  Ceased for a while to be.
 
  The Masters came again,        25
Back rolled the ages: care and folly fled
  Immortal Beauty’s reign,
O, not in vain in him that now lies dead
Was born that mighty spirit at whose breath
  Genius awakes from death!        30
 
 
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