In vain, when music’s seraph-fire <br /> Runs kindling through the air, <br />Making it such as gods respire, <br /> (And gods perhaps are there!) <br />In vain would words of subtlest wit <br /> Reveal, as on they roll, <br />The clouds of glory it hath lit <br /> Like sunrise in the soul! <br /> <br />Like sunrise when its conquering glow <br /> Smites through the vapours cold, <br />Till all their ragged inlets flow <br /> With floods of burning gold. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <br /> <br />Like him who great reports of tilth rejects, <br />Because his own is a most barren field, <br />Is he who man’s divinity suspects, <br />Because his own soul doth so little yield. <br />Better is one who through himself can see <br />How good, how lovely, all mankind might be, <br />Though mere experience give his faith the lie, <br />And all his hopes breathe the world’s breath—to die! <br /> <br /> <br /><br /><br />Charles Harpur<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/music-25/
