Ode on the Peace, An - Part 23

Enchanting visions sooth my sight — —
The finer arts no more oppress'd,
Benignant source of pure delight!
On her soft bosom love to rest.
While each discordant sound expires,
Strike harmony! strike all thy wires;
The fine vibrations of the spirit move
And touch the springs of rapture and of love.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.