The foot of Time so soundless never pass'd

The foot of Time so soundless never pass'd
As when sweet fancy wove her magic thralls —
Go, mourner, to the Muses, haste thee, haste,
And bring thy griefs where Peter's shadow falls
To heal thee in his passing: l call for aid
Of joy, that quenches being and its gall —
Sad! that the consciousness of Life must fade
Before the bliss it yields be felt at all:
We cannot sit, inertly calm'd, to hear
The silence broken by the step of life;
We must have music while we languish here,
Loud music, to annul our spirit's strife,
To make the soul with pleasant fancies rife,
And soothe the stranger from another sphere!