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...A TIME TO DANCE by CECIL DAY LEWIS SONG: THE STRICKEN DEER by THOMAS MOORE A LETTER TO LADY [MISS] MARGARET-CAVANDISH-HOLLES-HARLEY, WHEN A CHILD by MATTHEW PRIOR THE CONVENT THRESHOLD by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE DISMANTLED SHIP by WALT WHITMAN ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 3. TO THE CUCKOO by MARK AKENSIDE ON THE MANTLEPIECE by JAMES LANE ALLEN |