THE air, which thy smooth voice doth break, Into my soul like lightning flies; My life retires whilst thou dost speak, And thy soft breath its room supplies. Lost in this pleasing ecstasy, I join my trembling lips to thine; And back receive that life from thee, Which I so gladly did resign. Forbear, Platonic fools, t' inquire What numbers do the soul compose! No harmony can life inspire, But that which from these accents flows. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MINNIE AND WINNIE by ALFRED TENNYSON LANDSCAPE; TWILIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE GOLDEN AGE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 10. LONELY by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) PITCHING HAY IN VERMONT by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. DISENTANGLEMENT by EDWARD CARPENTER TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. EASTER DAY ON MT. MOUNIER by EDWARD CARPENTER |