How full of music’s harmony and state
Thy presence is, ere inspiration stirs!
As on thy Norseland mountains tower the firs,
Light with Norse glory when the hour is late;
But as when through their branches penetrate
The winds, those gentle, mighty conquerors,
Swelling their music all along the spurs,
So breath of heaven thy form can agitate,
Thy searching power can in a little space
Undo the door where wordless thoughts are pent.
Philosopher and poet, even these
Expression of their dimmest secrets trace,
As if their soul were in thine instrument,
Unprisoned slowly and by sweet degrees.