Chopin’s Nocturne, Op. 37, no. 1.
The sky is a brilliant enamel;
The sea is a beautiful gem;
The hours are beautiful flowers
That pass, and we keep none of them;
They bear not the thing we would cherish,
Those beautiful fruitless flowers;
Each comes up to blossom and perish;
We wait, and another is ours:
We wait till the heavens above us,
The flowering earth, or the seas
Shall bring us the soul meant to love us,
And hours much sweeter than these.
How thrill we, when heavenly hushes
Come over the sea and the land!—
Soft kissings of waves among rushes,
Footfalls of a bird on the sand,
Or least little stirs in the bushes
Take hold on the heart like a hand
Arresting—we know not for what—
But little we care to withstand:
How thrill we!—We think that some Spirit
Is speaking each moment like that;—
O faint not, strained ear, till you hear it,—
Heart, break not till you understand!