Recorded this morning --This is the only Griffes piece I have ever heard or played. The title intrigued me and the music is so very lush and dreamy; I think it really can put one into a trance at the end. It's not that easy to play though, and I've practiced it a lot so I hope it's okay. Regarding the music, it's from a set that Griffes wrote called "Roman Sketches". Since I was recently in Rome, I probably should look at the other pieces in this set, but I doubt I have the time. Also, I never saw an actual white peacock, either. Oh well... this particular piece is based on a book of poetry by William Sharp called, "Sospiri di Roma", which means "sighs of Rome". Isn't that nice? The poem itself is rather long; I've copied and pasted it below for anyone interested. Also a pretty picture of a white peacock. Griffes - Roman Sketches, Op. 7, No. 1 "The White Peacock" THE WHITE PEACOCK - by William Sharp, from "Sospiri di Roma" Here where the sunlight Floodeth the garden, Where the pomegranate Reareth its glory Of gorgeous blossom; Where the oleanders Dream through the noontides And, like surf o' the sea Round cliffs of basalt, The thick magnolias In billowy masses Front the sombre green of the ilexes Here where the heat lies Pale blue in the hollows, Where blue are the shadows On the fronds of the cactus, Where pale blue the gleaming Of fir and cypress, With the cones upon them Amber or glowing With virgin gold: Here where the honey-flower Makes the heat fragrant, As though from the gardens Of Gulistan, Where the bulbul singeth Through a mist of roses A breath were borne: Here where the dream-flowers, The cream-white poppies Silently waver, And where the Scirocco, Faint in the hollows, Foldeth his soft white wings in the sunlight, And lieth sleeping Deep in the heart of A sea of white violets Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty Moveth in silence, and dreamlike, and slowly, White as a snow-drift in mountain-valleys When softly upon it the gold light lingers White as the foam o' the sea that is driven O'er billows of azure agleam with sun-yellow: Cream-white and soft as the breasts of a girl, Moves the White Peacock, as though through the noontide A dream of the moonlight were real for a moment. Dim on the beautiful fan that he spreadeth, Foldeth and spreadeth abroad in the sunlight, Dim on the cream-white are blue adumbrations, Shadows so pale in their delicate blueness That visions they seem as of vanishing violets, The fragrant white violets veined with azure, Pale, pale as the breath of blue smoke in far woodlands. Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty, White as a cloud through the heats of the noontide Moves the White Peacock.