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Conrad Potter Aiken

(5 August 1889 – 17 August 1973 / Savannah, Georgia)

Music I Heard


Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart that you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,
—They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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  • David Evans (5/30/2009 6:37:00 PM)

    A slight correction should be made to the text of this lovely poem: The first line of the third stanza never included the word 'that.' The poem reads much more fluently without it, and Aiken was nothing if not 'fluid' in his stories and poems. (Report) Reply

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