She plays in beauty

She lays her bow upon the strings and slowly drew across them, pouring forth a glorious melody that made the songbird perched outside still his tune. I want to lay aside my own pathetic music and just sit, bathed in the aural beauty surrounding me. I close my eyes and as the notes wash over me, I imagine myself swimming in butter, floating in warm chocolate, the melted liquidness of her song enveloping my entire being. The conductor clapped his hands, breaking my reverie. I look around embarrassed, hoping no one saw my brief mental trip to Butter-and-Chocolate Land.

As I sit here remembering the amazing-ness of a master violinist, I am reminded of a poem I once heard. Maybe I had to memorize it in high school, but that was so long ago I don't remember. Read it slowly, with feeling, or better yet, close your eyes and have someone else read it to you (with feeling). Lord Byron could have been listening to the same exact thing I was last night when he wrote this almost 200 years ago. Isn't it cool how a poem written in the 1800s matches what I felt last night?

She Walks in Beauty

by Lord Byron


She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!