If to the intellect and passions strong Beethoven speak, with such resistless power, Making us share the full creative hour, When his wand fixed wild Fancy's mystic throng, Oh, Nature's finest lyre! to thee belong The deepest, softest tones of tenderness, Whose purity the listening angels bless, With silvery clearness of seraphic song. Sad are those chords, oh heavenward striving soul! And love, which never found its home on earth, Pensively vibrates, even in thy mirth, And gentle laws thy lightest notes control; Yet dear that sadness! spheral concords felt Purify most those hearts which most they melt. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER THE LAST BREATH (J.H. 1813-1904) by THOMAS HARDY A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 35 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN NO LONGER COULD I DOUBT HIM TRUE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR TO JOHN KEATS; SONNET by AMY LOWELL THE AGE OF WISDOM by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY DEJECTION by GRACE E. ALBRIGHT THE NONSENSE SAW OF A SAW-GIRL I SAW IN ARKANSAW by FRED W. ALLSOPP |