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Ada Cambridge - The Magic Wand
Work rating: Medium

As an April garden 
Breathes the scent of rain— 
Rain that calls her treasures 
Back to life again— 
So my spirit quickens to the opening strain. 

In its sheath of darkness 
Fancy`s folded wing 
Thrills and stirs and quivers 
To another spring, 
When the bow is drawn across the trembling string. 

In their grave of silence, 
In their husk and core, 
Dreams that winter buried 
Feel the sap once more 
Running warm and vital, as it ran before. 

Into secret chambers 
Where old passions sleep, 
Through the long-closed shutters, 
Lights of morning creep: 
Through the opening doorway airs of morning sweep. 

Hope resurgent, and Youth, 
With their dancing train, 
Mingled grief and glory, 
Blended bliss and pain, 
Ecstasies and agonies, come forth and live again. 

Wizard hand that summoned 
Each forgotten ghost, 
Plays like wind or water 
With the spell-bound host, 
Sailing seas supernal, for no earthly coast. 

Yet no magic music 
That an ear can mark 
Draws them winging upward 
Through the mist and dark, 
As the sky at sunrise draws the mounting lark. 

Through the poet-spirit, 
Touched with heavenly fire, 
Heavenly voices whisper 
In the wood and wire. 
God is the musician, and my soul the lyre.
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