And music’s soul-creative ecstasies;
Dream I—nor gloating o’er a wide estate,
Till the full, self-complacent heart, elate,
Well satisfied with bliss of mortal birth,
Sighs for an immortality on earth:
But where the incessant din
Of iron hands, and roar of brazen throats,
Join their unmingling notes;
While the long summer day is pouring in,
Till day is done, and darkness doth begin;