Music

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...