Orpheus with his lute made trees, <br /> And the mountain tops that freeze, <br /> Bow themselves, when he did sing: <br /> To his music plants and flowers <br /> Ever sprung; as sun and showers <br /> There had made a lasting spring. <br /> <br /> Everything that heard him play, <br /> Even the billows of the sea, <br /> Hung their heads, and then lay by. <br /> In sweet music is such art, <br /> Killing care and grief of heart <br /> Fall asleep, or hearing, die.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/orpheus-with-his-lute-made-trees/
