II
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re there not, then, two musics unto men?—One loud and bold and coarse,And overpowering still perforceAll tone and tune beside;Yet in despite its prideOnly of fumes of foolish fancy bred,And sounding solely in the sounding head:The other, soft and low,Stealing whence we not know,Painfully heard, and easily forgot,With pauses oft and many a silence strange(And silent oft it seems, when silent it is not),Revivals too of unexpected change:Haply thou think’st ’twill never be begun,Or that ’t has come, and been, and passed away:Yet turn to other none,—Turn not, oh, turn not thou!But listen, listen, listen,—if haply be heard it may;Listen, listen, listen,—is it not sounding now?
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