Classic Poem

When first I heard that world-enrapturing voice,
I marvell'd what could be the secret art
That dwarf'd all others to a sweet, tame noise,
That fail'd to reach the heart.

But when I saw the moisture in her eye,
And the emotion trembling through her frame,
My question had not long to wait reply—
The inward secret came.

She sang with all her being—lived her song—
And not for us alone the strain was given:
It seem'd to pass beyond us and along
The corridors of heaven.

So is it with all excellence: it seeks
Its own complete ideal—great or small;
And, speaking only for itself, it speaks
The heaven-wing'd thought for all.

'Twas not the organic utterance of lips,
The artful government of throat and lung:
The immortal put the mortal in eclipse;
It was the soul that sung.