For Music

Now whilst he dreams, O Muses, wind him round!
Send down thy silver words, O murmuring Rain!
Haunt him, sweet Music! Fall, with gentlest sound, —

Like dew, like night, upon his weary brain!
Come, Odours of the rose and violet, — bear
Into his charmed sleep all visions fair!
So may the lost be found,

So may his thoughts by tender Love be crowned,
And Hope come shining like a vernal morn,
And with its beams adorn
The Future, till he breathes diviner air,
In some soft Heaven of joy, beyond the range of Care!