The rumor of the forest trees,
The plunge of the implacable seas,
The tumult of the wind at night,
Voices of eld, like trumpets blowing
Old ballads and wild melodies
Through mist and darkness pouring forth
Like Elivagar’s rivers flowing
Out of the glaciers of the North.
These are the things that make poets, and musicians are poets. Then continues the same author:
And when he played, the atmosphere