Ah, she was music in herself, A symphony of joyousness. She sang, she sang from finger tips, From every tremble of her dress. I saw sweet haunting harmony, An ecstasy, an ecstasy, In that strange curling of her lips, That happy curling of her lips. And quivering with melody Those eyes I saw, that tossing head. And so I saw what music was, Tho' still accursed with ears of lead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST WORD by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE DEATH OF SLAVERY by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE FOURTH OF JULY by JOHN PIERPONT ANECDOTE OF THE JAR by WALLACE STEVENS ON BEING BROUGHT FROM AFRICA TO AMERICA by PHILLIS WHEATLEY EXTEMPORE EFFUSION UPON THE DEATH OF JAMES HOGG by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |