The Final Gig: Portrait by *PollyUranus
‘… Thy note—it is silent, thy song—it is hushed,
No more shall thy music entrance or enthral,
The music that like the blue rivulet gushed,
A finger of terror has silenced it all.
When far through the cloisters the anthem was stealing,
Thy heart was ablaze with a heavenly ray—
When thy organ was softly and tenderly pealing,
Or the bass of thy bourdon was rolling away.
Thy vespers were sweet and thy exquisite numbers
Swelled gently and hung on the tremulous air,
And, light as the prayer before infancy’s slumbers,
Ascended on high—thou hast followed them there…’
Just a small part of the beautiful poem ‘the Musician’s Grave’ by the late Lennox Amott.
