Music

Oft Music, as it were some moving mighty sea, Bears me towards my pale Star: in clear space, or 'neath a vaporous canopy On-floating, I set sail.

With heaving chest which strains forward, and lungs outblown, I climb the ridgèd steeps Of those high-pilèd clouds which 'thwart the night are thrown, Veiling its starry deeps.

I suffer all the throes, within my quivering form, Of a great ship in pain, Now a soft wind, and now the writhings of a storm

Upon the vasty main Rock me: at other times a death-like calm, the bare Mirror of my despair.