And thrill to feel the touch!—
But sounds may rise
In souls untuned, like harp-strings when they snap,
Or, though more soft than dreamland breezes are,
May fright like forests when the dark leaves blow
About the solitary murderer—
And sweetest airs to sweetest moods may bring
But foretastes vague of harmonies on high.
The school-girl hears her comrade’s ringing laugh,—
’Tis but the key-note trill’d before the tune.