Spring Waters, a tribute.

When thinking how the wing-chords of his Spring
Delight away the troubles of these times
With Waters on true loving lips that sing,
While eager notes in-flood one poet’s rhymes,
I feel I’m on an island up aloft—
That living haven called Rachmaninoff.
No last peace for the dead is such as this,
But waking shores of ever-shimm’ring light
Where silver bells and golden bells combine
To ring the mind into a rage of bliss,
A rhapsody of joy that grabs with might
And sets me stepping under hard blue skies.
My wid’ning stride’s symphonic dance divine
As spring leaps up in waters to my eyes!

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