Chapter XLVI

Through all those days how heeded I each sound,
That broke the stillness in that room of his!
Would hold my breath between the notes to feel
His own suspense before the impending strain
When fell, anon, the spirit’s overflow.
I never so had trembled at the peals
Of thunder as beneath the chords he struck;
Nor felt my cheek so moist by rains as there
By tears that flow’d as flow’d his melodies;
While all the air about appear’d surcharged
With dangerous force electric, touch’d alone
To flash keen suffering from his heart to mine.
And yet, each day, his music sweeter swell’d.
Ere that, it may have lack’d in undertone,
The pleading pathos of half-utter’d grief:
Since then, I never hear it but it seems
As if the heavens had been bereaved of love,
And pour’d their sad complaint on earth beneath;
And I who listen to the sweetness of it
Can never tell if I should smile or weep
To think that it has come so far below,
Or feel that it has left so much above.