Ah Music, thou sweet sprite,
Thou trammelest my feet
With blossoms of delight
And tendrils of defeat.

Drugged by thy soft content
I let the charmed hours pass;
Days without effort spent
Drift by as in a glass.

Still, still thy strains allure;
I nothing lack of peace
Save that which makes secure,
The power to bid thee cease.

But wildered by delight
I stumble amid flowers,
While in my Dream's despite
The minutes run to hours.