Friday, December 21, 2012

Captain Robinson By Edgar Lee Masters

If the tune "spoon river", played by the nameless fiddler,
Heard by me as a youth in the evenings of 57,
By the cabin door on the banks of the little stream,
May under the genuine witty hands of Percy Grainger,
Become a symphony utterable to the baton
of great conductors, and only thus, in brasses,
Viols, violins, flutes, and strings of the harp,
The bloom of the drum, the thunder tubes of the organ-
If this may be, may not my dream of the sixties
Flower to a dream of song, a great Republic?
Till the smoke of the cabin, the smell of honey and corn,
And days of labor, and evenings of neighborly talk,
And nights of peaceful sleep under friendly stars,
And courage, and singing nerves, and honest hope,
And freedom for men to live as men, and laughter,
And all sweet things that ripple the tune of the fiddler,
become a symphony rich and deep as the sea.