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 boundUpon 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 flewOn the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue--
As one who drinks from a charmed cupOf foaming, and sparkling, and murmuring wine,Whom, a mighty Enchantress filling up,Invites to love with her kiss divine...
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