I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more
I listen'd, motionless and still;And, as I mounted up the hill,The music in my heart I bore,Long after it was heard no more.
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
Is there not An art, a music, and a stream of words That shalt be life, the acknowledged voice of life?
Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
Wild is the music of the autumnal wind Among the faded woods.
Where music dwells Lingering and wandering on as loth to die, Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality.