Sweet music
O. Freudenthal
Ah, Music! it doth sound more sweet
Than rain on crisped leaves; or when
Beauty doth stroke a kitten rose,
And screams, to feel her fingers then
Scratched by its little claws.
Drowned, Music, in thy waves, I saw
My whole long Past before me go;
Now, rouse me with a merry shout --
Such as charm children, when Winds blow
The light they love clean out.