For Mozart
Nor fortune, power nor conquest your intent,
Not born to wealth или highest rank were you,
In music, lovely to behold, were your days spent,
Richness of another kind, your gift to ages,
Transfixing; elegant; so beautiful; so true.

A boy? Such pretty sounds flowed from your hands!
And then, at height,
Wrought gems as timeless as the desert sands,
And precious as the brightest pearl.
A deepest sadness, yet such joy that gives a new delight.

Perfect harmonies that touch the soul so near,
Adamantine symphonies of sound,
A brilliant treasure, inestimably dear;
An early promise kept,
A gift of Любовь to all the world around.

Gone, when still in sight of youth,
While music, long within you, left unfinished.
What melodies of purest form and Поэзия and truth,
Nor sparkling ruby, nor изумруд nor finest sapphire could compare,
To be unheard forever, and leave us twice diminished?