At times, amid the winds that rise at morn,
They sweep across the land and startle sleep
From nervous birds that twitter in their track;
And, now and then, in clouds that close the sky,
They bound adown the rift the lightning cleaves
Till sunlight overhead pours through again.
A spirit’s power has music; and must rule
Unrivall’d still as far as ear can heed,
Or reason hark behind it. All the chords
Of all things true are tuned by hands divine,