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The Hoofs of Pegasus

Chapter 35: TO A MUSICIAN
By Letitia Stockett
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Poetry

About This Book

A collection of short lyrical poems that weave mythic and religious imagery with intimate observations of nature and interior feeling. Many pieces draw on classical figures and Renaissance art, while others reflect domestic scenes, sleep, music, and sacrament; recurrent motifs include night and light, birds, water, and ritual. Voice shifts between contemplative reverie and pastoral detail, exploring longing, faith, and creative impulse. The sequence moves through imagistic vignettes—moonlit meadows, bathing maidens, sacramental harvests, and dreams—linking private emotion to larger spiritual and mythical resonances.

TO A MUSICIAN

I THOUGHT that only God could make the rain, But when you laid your hands upon the keys The room was full of gentle harmonies— An eager shower pattering on the pane, The hushed and wistful tread Of rain at night that marches overhead, The kind, grey rain that stills the windy trees.
I thought that only God could make a star, But I have heard your fingers build the sky, Have watched the yellow dusk of autumn die And night creep up the east immense and far, Then glittering and bright, I’ve seen the Hunter girt with silver light, Orion with his shining hounds sweep by.
I thought that only God could make the sea, But in your music the unbounded deep Is gathered up as in a treasure heap— Calm spaces, rocks where singing tides run free, The cloudy-emerald foam Ships on the world’s dim verge, far, far from home, And pools unrippled where the hushed winds sleep.