Classic Poem

Strike me a note of sweet degrees—
Of sweet degrees—
Like those in Jewry heard of old;
My love, if thou wouldst wholly please,
Hold in thy hand a harp of gold,
And touch the strings with fingers light,
And yet with strength as David might—
As David might.

Linger not long in songs of love—
In songs of love;
No serenades nor wanton airs
The deeper soul of music move;
Only a solemn measure bears
With rapture that shall never cease
My spirit to the gates of peace—
The gates of peace.

So feel I when Francesca sings—
Francesea sings—
My thoughts mount upward; I am dead
To every sense of vulgar things,
And on celestial highways tread,
With prophets of the olden time—
Those minstrel kings, the men sublime—
The men sublime.