In Praise Of Music

When whispering strains do softly steal

With creeping passion through the heart

And when at every touch we feel

Our pulses beat and bear a part;

When threads can make

A heartstring shake

Philosophy

Can scarce deny

The soul consists of harmony.

When unto heavenly joy we feign

Whate'er the soul affecteth most,

Which only thus we can explain

By music of the wingèd host,

Whose lays we think

Make stars to wink,

Philosophy

Can scarce deny

Our souls consist of harmony.

O lull me, lull me, charming air,

My senses rock with wonder sweet;

Like snow on wool thy fallings are,

Soft, like a spirit's, are thy feet:

Grief who need fear

That hath an ear?

Down let him lie

And slumbring die,

And change his soul for harmony.