Is there, when the winds are singing
In the happy summer-time,—
When the raptured air is ringing
With Earth’s music heavenward springing,
Forest chirp, and village chime,—
Is there, of the sounds that float
Unsighingly, a single note
Half so sweet and clear and wild
As the laughter of a child?
Listen! and be now...
Blind Thamyris, and Blind Mæonides, Milton.
Pursue the triumph and partake the gale! Pope.
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees, Shakespeare.
To point a moral or adorn a tale. Johnson.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene, Gray.
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears, Tennyson.
Like angels’ visits, few and far between, ...
