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She, pausing for my voice, and listening long, May know its silence sadder than its song.

Philip Bourke Marston.


When whispering strains with creeping wind
Distil soft passions through the heart;
And when at every touch we find
Our pulses beat and bear a part;

When threads can make
A heart-string ache,
Can scarce deny
Our souls are made of harmony.

When unto heavenly joys we faine
Whate'er the soul affecteth most,
Which only thus we can explain
By music of the heavenly host;

Whose lays we think
Make stars to wink,
Can scarce deny
Our souls consist of harmony.

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O, lull me, lull me, charming air !
My senses rock with wonder sweet;
Like snow on wool thy fallings are;
Soft like a spirit's are thy feet !

Grief who needs fear
That hath an ear?
Down let him lie,
And slumbering die,
And change his soul for harmony.

William Strode.


Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast,
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
I've read that things inanimate have moved,
And, as with living souls, have been informed
By magic numbers and persuasive sound.

William Congreve.


I listened to the music broad and deep

I heard the tenor in an ecstasy
Touch the sweet, distant goal; I heard the


Of prayer and passion, and I heard the sweep Of mighty wings, that in their waving keep

The music that the spheres make endlessly; Then my cheek shivered, tears made blind

mine eye,

As flame to flame I felt the quick blood leap, And, through the tides and moonlit winds of

sound To me love's passionate voice grew audible. Again I felt thy heart to my heart bound,

Then silence on the viols and voices fell;

But, like the still, small voice within a shell, I heard Love thrilling through the void profound.

Philip Bourke Marston.


Enchantress, touch no more that strain!
I know not what it may contain,
But in my breast such mood it wakes
My very spirit almost breaks.
Thoughts come from out some hidden realm
Whose dim memorials overwhelm,
Still bring not back the things I lost,
Still bringing all the pain they cost.

John Albee.

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