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St. Cecilia (Louvre) From Painting by Pierre Mignard

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Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in

joy. Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not

gladly? Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, By unions married, do offend thine ear, They do but sweetly chide thee, who con

founds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst

bear. Mark how one string, sweet husband to an

other, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; Resembling sire and child and happy mother, Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing: Whose speechless song, being many, seem

ing one, Sings this to thee, “Thou single wilt prove none."

William Shakespeare.


All music is what awakes from you when you

are reminded by the instruments, It is not the violins and the cornets, it is not the

oboe nor the beating drums, nor the score of the baritone singer singing his sweet romanza, nor that of the men's chorus,

nor that of the woman's chorus, It is nearer and farther than they.

Walt Whitman.


Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy, Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and

Verse, Wed your divine sounds; and mixt power

employ Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to

pierce; And to our high-rais'd phantasy present That undisturbed song of pure concent, Aye sung before the sapphire-color'd throne

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