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Artist's Life by Wheeler Wilcox

Of all the waltzes the great Strauss wrote,
mad with melody, rhythm--rife
From the very first to the final note,
Give me his "Artist's Life!"
It stirs my blood to my finger ends,
Thrills me and fills me with vague unrest,
And all that is sweetest and saddest blends
Together within my breast.
It brings back that night in the dim arcade,
In love's sweet morning and life's best prime,
When the great brass orchestra played and played,
And set our thoughts to rhyme.
It brings back that Winter of mad delights,
Of leaping pulses and tripping feet,
And those languid moon-washed Summer nights
When we heard the band in the street.
It brings back rapture and glee and glow,
It brings back passion and pain and strife,
And so of all the waltzes I know,
Give me the "Artist's Life."
For it is so full of the dear old time--
So full of the dear friends I knew.
And under its rhythm, and lilt, and rhyme,
I am always finding--you.

TWILIGHT ZONE

  TWILIGHT ZONE

When the sun sparks in the horizon,

And the trees bow low to the ground.

The splashing in the evening breeze

Cannot be ignored and can be embraced.

Upon clinging to the night sky, 

Did you dazzle and look for its domain?

Trembling down the atmosphere's arms

Clinging to the leaves wherein it drowns.

The sound of the crickets ' voices

Echoes down the listener's ears; 

Crumbling down with the blow of the wind,

Strengthens its path that no one could explain.

The echo of its sound is like a music that lingers on,

Tickling down the midst of the night;

Waiting to be opened or grasped by sight

Leaving its beauty 'til the bright of the day.