CALLING...

A MINUET of MOZART's by Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

Across the dimly lighted room the violin drew wefts of sound;

Airily they wove and wound and glimmered gold against the gloom.

I watched the music turn to light, but at the pausing of the bow,

The web was broken, and the glow was drowned within the wave of night.

                                        Dreamily...

Rufous hum hum

                                                   over the roofs...

                        the cold spring rain is falling.

              Out in the lonely tree

                            A bird is calling...

                      

                Calling...

Slowly over the earth, the wings of night are falling;

My heart, like the bird in the tree,

                                 Is calling, calling, calling...
 

Photographs 2026