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For Nijinsky’s Tomb
Nijinsky’s ashes here in peace repose
No more the Faun, the Harlequin, the Rose.
We saw him framed in light before the crowds,
Hushed like a tree that waits the touch of dawn,
A panther ready, or an arrow drawn.
Then music came, the sure, awakening bars,
He leapt beyond the bounds of joy and grief;
His heart conferred in those transfigured hours,
Strength like the sun, precision like the stars;
The sea was his; the buoyancy of clouds,
The sap that flows in every fluted leaf,
The blossoming, in light, of fields of flowers.
Yet later, smiling in applauded grace,
The Faun, the Rose was never wholly ours,
We saw remoteness in the tilted face,
He heard alone, beyond our human ears,
Beyond applause, the Music of the Spheres.
Nijinsky’s ashes here in peace are laid
Their perfect tribute to Perfection paid.
Frances Cornford