Perplexed Music
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XPERIENCE, like a pale musician, holdsA dulcimer of patience in his hand,Whence harmonies, we cannot understand,Of God; will in his worlds, the strain unfoldsIn sad-perplexed minors: deathly coldsFall on us while we hear, and countermandOur sanguine heart back from the fancylandWith nightingales in visionary wolds.We murmur ' Where is any certain tuneOr measured music in such notes as these ? 'But angels, leaning from the golden seat,Are not so minded their fine ear hath wonThe issue of completed cadences,And, smiling down the stars, they whisper--SWEET.
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