Ah! what is music but a bird of fire
That carries me on singing golden pinions,
Farther and farther from the sun's dominions,
Towards the dream-remembered paradise
Of heart's desire—

Towards the enchanted land that ever lies
Beyond, and still beyond, for all our flying,
Till the bird wearies; and the music, dying,
Leaves my heart aching yet with the desire
That never dies.