Pastorale
Hart Crane
1899 to 1932
No more violets,
And the year
Broken into smoky panels.
What woods remember now
Her calls, her enthusiasms.
That ritual of sap and leaves
The sun drew out,
Ends in this latter muffled
Bronze and brass. The wind
Takes rein.
If, dusty, I bear
An image beyond this
Already fallen harvest,
I can only query, "Fool—
Have you remembered too long;
Or was there too little said
For ease or resolution—
Summer scarcely begun
And violets,
A few picked, the rest dead?"
Hart Crane's Pastorale
I am busy working to bring Hart Crane's "Pastorale" to life through some unique musical arrangements and will have a full analysis of the poem here for you later.
In the meantime, I invite you to explore the poem's themes, structure, and meaning. You can also check out the gallery for other musical arrangements or learn more about Hart Crane's life and contributions to literature.
Check back soon to experience how "Pastorale" transforms when verse meets melody—a unique journey that makes poetry accessible, engaging, and profoundly moving in new ways.
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