 | Poems |  |
59
TO LYDIA.
As one who hears, against her will,
The echo of some sweetest strain,
Which will not cease, nor yet be plain,
But vaguely haunts her fancy still:
The echo of some sweetest strain,
Which will not cease, nor yet be plain,
But vaguely haunts her fancy still:
Who resteth not until she hear
Some voice which with fair skill awakes
The uncertain melody, and makes
It certain music to her ear;
Some voice which with fair skill awakes
The uncertain melody, and makes
It certain music to her ear;
So when in thy melodious heart
Vague thoughts and feelings echo fair,
Rest not—but to the Muse repair,
And she shall soothe thee by her art;
Vague thoughts and feelings echo fair,
Rest not—but to the Muse repair,
And she shall soothe thee by her art;
Tell her of vaguest sense of pain,
Of love, of joy, of hope or fear,
And she, in magic music clear,
Shall speak thy sweet thoughts back again!
Of love, of joy, of hope or fear,
And she, in magic music clear,
Shall speak thy sweet thoughts back again!
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