During music

O cool unto the sense of pain

That last night's sleep could not destroy;

O warm unto the sense of joy,

That dreams its life within the brain.

What though I lean o'er thee to scan

The written music cramped and stiff;

'Tis dark to me, as hieroglyph

On those weird bulks Egyptian.

But as from those, dumb now and strange,

A glory wanders on the earth,

Even so thy tones can call a birth

From these, to shake my soul with change.

O swift, as in melodious haste

Float o'er the keys thy fingers small.

O soft, as is the rise and fall

Which stirs that shade within thy breast.