Sonnets to Telemann, part I

(in the manner, but without a shred of the talent of, Bill the Bard):

About the dark and empty night you float
Amidst the cold and silent reach of mind
The piercing sound of horn and string to note
Your face and form and eyes I yearn to find
Beyond the reach of hand or form or grasp
Within the hope of dreams to play a part
I cannot cling to mist or breast yet clasp
But 'plaint the ache and yearning of my heart
The song gives rise to thought of what could be
The empty space at hand belies that ghost
Your shape and warmth and soul I cannot see
No tune brings forth the light your heart might host
As I but wish to feel the touch of hand
The music fades and leaves but Morpheus' sand