When I thy singing next shall hear, <br />I'll wish I might turn all to ear, <br />To drink-in notes and numbers, such <br />As blessed souls can't hear too much <br />Then melted down, there let me lie <br />Entranced, and lost confusedly; <br />And by thy music strucken mute, <br />Die, and be turn'd into a Lute.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/upon-julia-s-voice/
