Thou still unrivaled form of loveliness,
Thou studied child of rhythm, time, and tune,
Pious monk or learnèd sage can but express
Their bid at earthly beauty but rough-hewn.
What joy there is that lingers round thy form!
Of sight and sound—the pleasure joined at both—
The chords and chorus wed in fervencies.
What joy, what ardor, and what `passioned growth
Enlivens hearts then raptures weave and warm
Upon the striking of thy pleasant keys.
- D. Benning
No comments:
Post a Comment