And yet thy harmony heard.
This I have found, as fast thou holdeth me:
Thou startest full, and risest;
And all doth thrill—sweet, moving melody,
Climbing to the highest.
No pipe, no flute, organ or organist,
Can reach thine allegro,
And thy cadenza, thou transcendentalist—
’Tis music with naught of woe.
Whence come from singers proud their hard-won notes?