MUSIC.

What angel viol, effortless and sure,

Speaks through the straining silence, whence, ah whence

That tremulous low joy, so keen, so pure

That all existence narrows to one sense,

Lapped round and round

In rapture of sweet sound?

Oh, how it wins along the steep, and loud and loud,

Over the chasm and the cloud,

Swells in its lordly tide

Higher and higher, and undenied,

Full throated to the star!—

Then lowlier, softer, dreaming dies and dies

Over the closing eyes,

Dies with my spirit away, afar,

Swayed as on ocean’ s breast

Dies into rest.