MY CITY

Life during the CoronaviruS and/or BLACK LIVES MATTER

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Virginia Schick

Nederland, Colorado (USA)

 

WHAT THE SOUL DESIRES

 

Our souls want Love, Freedom, Harmony, & Peace.

I am a Rocky Mountain Woman. In these turbulent times,

this piece expresses my search.

It was inspired by the poem,

WHAT THE SOUL DESIRES

by Augusta Theodosia Drane (1823-1894)

 

“THERE is a rapture that my soul desires,

There is a something that I cannot name;

I know not after what my soul aspires,

Nor guess from whence the restless longing came;

But ever from my childhood have I felt it,

In all things beautiful and all things gay,

And ever has its gentle, unseen presence

Fallen, like a shadow-cloud, across my way.

 

It is the melody of all sweet music,

In all fair forms it is the hidden grace;

In all I love, a something that escapes me,

Flies my pursuit, and ever veils its face.

I see it in the woodland’s summer beauty,

I hear it in the breathing of the air;

I stretch my hands to feel for it, and grasp it,

But ah! too well I know, it is not there.

 

In sunset-hours, when all the earth is golden,

And rosy clouds are hastening to the west,

I catch a waving gleam, and then ’tis vanished,

And the old longing once more fills my breast.”

 

>

Virginia Schick

WHAT THE SOUL DESIRES

2020

Virginia Schick

Nederland, Colorado (USA)

 

WHAT THE SOUL DESIRES

 

Our souls want Love, Freedom, Harmony, & Peace.

I am a Rocky Mountain Woman. In these turbulent times,

this piece expresses my search.

It was inspired by the poem,

WHAT THE SOUL DESIRES

by Augusta Theodosia Drane (1823-1894)

 

“THERE is a rapture that my soul desires,

There is a something that I cannot name;

I know not after what my soul aspires,

Nor guess from whence the restless longing came;

But ever from my childhood have I felt it,

In all things beautiful and all things gay,

And ever has its gentle, unseen presence

Fallen, like a shadow-cloud, across my way.

 

It is the melody of all sweet music,

In all fair forms it is the hidden grace;

In all I love, a something that escapes me,

Flies my pursuit, and ever veils its face.

I see it in the woodland’s summer beauty,

I hear it in the breathing of the air;

I stretch my hands to feel for it, and grasp it,

But ah! too well I know, it is not there.

 

In sunset-hours, when all the earth is golden,

And rosy clouds are hastening to the west,

I catch a waving gleam, and then ’tis vanished,

And the old longing once more fills my breast.”