(_La Musique_)
Music can lead me far, and far
O'er mystical sad seas,
Where burns my pale, high-hanging star
Among the mysteries
Of Pleiades.
My lungs are taut of sweet salt air;
The pregnant sail-cloths climb
The long, gloom-gathering ocean stair.
I don the chord-shot cloak of Time
While the waves chime!
Fierce winds and sombre tempests come
And bludgeon heavily
All our vibrating timbers ... drum
Most passionately. O Sea!
Liberate me!
So shall thy mighty void express
Both depths and surface. There
Opens thy magic mirror; men confess
To Thee their sick despair
... No otherwhere.