Sons Sonnet I am in need of music that would flow Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips, Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips, With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow. Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low, Of some song sung to rest the tired dead, A song to fall like water on my head, And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow! There is a magic made by melody: A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep To the subaqueous stillness of the sea, And floats forever in a moon-green pool, Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep. (1928) Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979) Ao som deWolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791), Horn Concertos nºs 1-4, Dennis Brain, dir. Herbert von Karajan, ed. EMI. --------