Music

I pant for the music which is divine, My heart in its thirst is a dying flower; Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine, Loosen the notes in a silver shower; Like a herbless plain, for the gentle rain, I gasp, I faint, till they wake again.

Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound, More, oh more,--I am thirsting yet; It loosens the serpent which care has bound Upon my heart to stifle it; The dissolving strain, through every vein, Passes into my heart and brain.

As the scent of a violet withered up, Which grew by the brink of a silver lake, When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup, And mist there was none its thirst to slake-- And the violet lay dead while the odour flew On the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue--

As one who drinks from a charmed cup Of foaming, and sparkling, and murmuring wine, Whom, a mighty Enchantress filling up, Invites to love with her kiss divine...