aspirations.
17
IV.
Am I, indeed, th'Æolian harp,
That to each breeze responsive swells
Within whose slight and quiv'ring strings,
No deep and inborn music dwells?
That to each breeze responsive swells
Within whose slight and quiv'ring strings,
No deep and inborn music dwells?
Am I the pool, where flower, and leaf,
And wand'ring cloud, and flitting beam,
Are glassed in beauty and in joy,
Then pass away, a silent dream?
And wand'ring cloud, and flitting beam,
Are glassed in beauty and in joy,
Then pass away, a silent dream?
Oh, wert thou then the constant wind,—
To wake my echoes, and to play
The measures of thy own soul out
Upon my chords, for aye and aye!
To wake my echoes, and to play
The measures of thy own soul out
Upon my chords, for aye and aye!
Wert thou the flower, the leaf, the cloud,
The ray of a transcendent sun!
Casting thy splendour in my deeps,
And flaming grandly on and on.
The ray of a transcendent sun!
Casting thy splendour in my deeps,
And flaming grandly on and on.
