 | Madrigals, songs and sonnets |  |
7
MUSIC.
Before the clavichordStately she sat, and from her fine lips pour'd
The song I love so well:
Fair is she, yet I could afford
To lose those deep eyes where clear violets dwell,
And, in a whirl of sound,
To gain the heaven where her young spirit soar'd,
Forgetful of the ground.
Music, thy noblest servant, Israfel,
Feels not his lyre-heart more divinely bound
At seraph-chaunts, than I to hear
That passionate rondel throb with hope and fear!
| Madrigals, songs and sonnets | |