Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on, Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeard, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
Much have I travelld in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browd Homer ruled as his demesne, Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific, and all his men Lookd at each other with a wild surmise, Silent, upon a peak in Darien.