I.
Hark, sister! hear we not the vesper hymn?
And is it not the hymn that Haydn wrote?
Why not push wide the window? Rob we God,
If, while our praise to Him be passing by,
Some air, made sweeter, tarry here with us?
There, there—it dies away.—Why say “it dies”?—
Because it lived?—Ay, ay, my body here,
Because it moves and throbs and tells of thought
And wakens thought in others, thus you know