Lxi

And frank I will respond as you interrogate. Ah, Music, wouldst thou help! Words struggle with the weight So feebly of the False, thick element between Our soul, the True, and Truth! which, but that intervene False shows of things, were reached as easily by thought Reducible to word, as now by yearnings wrought Up with thy fine free force, O Music, that canst thrid, Electrically win a passage through the lid Of earthly sepulchre, our words may push against, Hardly transpierce as thou! Not dissipate, thou deign'st, So much as tricksily elude what words attempt To heave away, i' the mass, and let the soul, exempt From all that vapory obstruction, view, instead Of glimmer underneath, a glory overhead. Not feebly, like our phrase, against the barrier go In suspirative swell the authentic notes I know, By help whereof, I would our souls were found without The pale, above the dense and dim which breeds the doubt! But Music, dumb for you, withdraws her help from me; And, since to weary words recourse again must be, At least permit they rest their burden here and there, Music-like: cover space! My answer,--need you care If it exceed the bounds, reply to questioning You never meant should plague? Once fairly on the wing, Let me flap far and wide!