 | Poems |  |
130
SONNET.
There's music on the winds—and far aloftIt sinks and rises as they rise and sink.
And evermore, like waters from the brink
Of over-joyful springs, in tones most soft
And most melodious, came quick bursts of song,
Like harpers harping on their harps: and oft
They fill'd my soul with worship; till among
The caverns of the clouds they seem'd to lose
The magic of their music—none might choose
But hear—the fount was rapture, and to drink,
A joy past utterance: and the morning dews
Chased mist-like the blue ocean waves along,
Till clouds, winds, waters, music-built did seem,
The shadows of an everlasting dream.
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