Classic Poem

I know when thou dost touch the keys,
Fair lady, with thy loving hand,
That I shall hear sweet harmonies,
Played as their makers planned.

For as the sun with beauty fills
A landscape that by night was dark,
Disclosing meads, and purple hills,
And heaven where sings the lark;

So thou, illuming some old theme
With the bright sunshine of thy soul,
Reveal'st the beauties rare which gleam
Upon the master's scroll.