A quiet notice V2Melody closes at midnight on , Spanish time.

Closes

A note from Richard

V2Melody will close at midnight on 20 January 2028

This site has been a retirement project in musical poetry: poems chosen with care and set to music, offered freely for as long as it felt right to keep the garden open.

The work no longer holds the place it once did in my life. I have gone as far with it as I wish to go. Like a sand mandala, it was made to be completed and then released. I am not attached to its permanence, and I do not believe any of it needs to last beyond the time it was given. The poems were already here before I arrived and began to experiment with them. They will still be here when these musical experiments, and indeed myself, have been swept away, like the sand of a mandala. Nothing has been lost.

I want a simpler end to my life, days of simple love and enjoyment with my wonderful wife of 20 years. The work of maintaining a server, the monitoring, and the residual obligations that come with keeping a site alive no longer fit that life.

From 4 November 2026 I will not be adding new poems or musical poems to the site.

Until midnight on 20 January 2028, Spanish time, everything remains available exactly as it is. That is when my VPS server contract comes to an end, and it will not be renewed. After that, the server will be switched off and the site will disappear.

The Mandala Is Finished explains this more fully.

Thank you to anyone who found a poem, a track, or a quiet moment here.

The pleasure was in the making.

Richard



Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.006 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.

This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.

Nurse's Song

by William Blake

−0.2891 − 0.2377i

Drawing the boundary…

Beauty

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.2838 − 0.2353i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

Nurse's Song

by William Blake

When voices of children are heard on the green,
    And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
    And everything else is still.

'Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
    And the dews of night arise;
Come, come, leave off play, and let us away,
    Till the morning appears in the skies.'

'No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
    And we cannot go to sleep;
Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,
    And the hills are all covered with sheep.'

'Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
    And then go home to bed.'
The little ones leaped, and shouted, and laughed,
    And all the hills echoèd.

From Songs of Innocence

Beauty

by Nora Hopper Chesson

Beauty was born of the world's desire 
For the wandering water, the wandering fire. 
Under the arch of her hurrying feet 
She has trodden a world full of bittersweet. 

The blood of the violet is in her veins, 
Her pulse has the passion of April rains. 
Out of the heart of a satin flower 
God made her eyelids in one sweet hour. 

Out of the wind He made her feet 
That they might be lovely, and luring, and fleet. 
Out of a cloud He wove her hair 
Heavy and black with the rain held there. 

What is her name? There's none that knows— 
Mother-o'-mischief, or Mouth-o'-rose. 
What is her pathway? None may tell. 
But it climbs to heaven and it dips to hell. 

The garment on her is mist and fire, 
Anger and sorrow and heart's desire. 
Her forehead-jewel's an amethyst, 
The garland to her is love-in-a-mist. 

Her girdle is of the beryl-stone, 
And one dark rose for her flower has grown,
Filled to the brim with the strength o' the sun, 
A passionate rose, and only one. 

The bird in her breast sings all day long 
A wonderful, wistful, whispering song: 
The song that is of all passing things,
None knows it — wingless or born with wings. 

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