Posted by Admin on 31 January 2008, 12:00 am
O bright-hued phantom, allied to a voice,
whose dulcet tones evoke a tear
with sad refrain, or bid my heart rejoice,
when lilting tunes entice my ear.
How well did your great artistry express
the desolation of each year,
when Fate destroys the bloom of happiness,
with grief youth’s nascent buds are sere.
Long impotent my pen had vainly tried,
sublime emotions to portray,
how great its failure I had ne’er descried,
until you ranged to grave from gay.
May long the threads of fantasy you weave,
entrance the mind with film-land’s make-believe.
T. C. Hudson
15th November 1946
© T. C. Hudson.
Village
Parish Council