Such moving sounds from such a careless touch, <br />So unconcerned herself, and we so much! <br />What art is this, that with so little pains <br />Transports us thus, and o'er the spirit reigns? <br />The trembling strings about her fingers crowd <br />And tell their joy for every kiss aloud. <br />Small force there needs to make them tremble so; <br />Touched by that hand, who would not tremble too? <br />Here love takes stand, and while she charms the ear, <br />Empties his quiver on the listening deer: <br />Music so softens and disarms the mind <br />That not an arrow does resistance find. <br />Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize, <br />And acts herself the the triumph of her eyes. <br />So Nero once with harp in hand surveyed <br />His flaming Rome, and as it burned he played.<br /><br />Edmund Waller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/of-my-lady-isabella-playing-on-the-lute/
