For a long time, the speaker didn’t notice it, but now he hears a music that never stops and never began—and it fills him with elation. He picks out individual voices: a strong tenor rising like daybreak, a soprano floating effortlessly over huge waves, a shimmering bass that trembles through the universe. There are crashing full passages, funeral wails, tender flutes and violins. He doesn’t just hear the sound; he feels the exquisite meanings underneath. The different voices weave around each other, fiercely competing in emotion, as if each one is trying to outdo the rest in feeling. He senses that the singers and players aren’t fully aware of what they’re expressing, but he himself is finally beginning to understand them. The mood is one of overwhelming discovery—intimate yet cosmic, a rush of beauty and hidden purpose that turns the world into a living symphony.
That Music Always Round Me. — Summary
THAT music always round me, unceasing, unbeginning—yet long untaught I did not hear; But now the chorus I hear, and am elated; A tenor, strong, ascending, with power and health, with glad notes of day-break I hear, A soprano, at intervals, sailing buoyantly over the tops of immense waves, A transparent bass, shuddering lusciously under and through the universe, The triumphant tutti—the funeral wailings, with sweet flutes and violins—all these I fill myself with; I hear not the volumes of sound merely—I am moved by the exquisite meanings, I listen to the different voices winding in and out, striving, contending with fiery vehemence to excel each other in emotion; I do not think the performers know themselves—but now I think I begin to know them.