It hath been said that music is a dream,
A soft creation and a witchery
Made for earth’s happier climes, where peacefully
Men’s thoughts go by as goes a pleasant stream:--
It hath been said too, that the favored
And bright ones who so sing us into bliss,
And witch out from our souls unquietness,
And place a Sabbath softness in its stead--
It hath been said that these not mortal be,
But are of the same nature with the sky--
Ethereal, volatile, as clouds that play
About the sinking sun at shut of day:--
_But sure they lie--for this soft hand in mine_,
_And this soft strain I hear--why, both are thine!_
*