| |
| HALLO!—what?—where, what can it be | |
| That strikes up so deliciously? | |
| I never in my life—what? no! | |
| That little tin box playing so? | |
| It really seemed as if a sprite | 5 |
| Had struck among us swift and light, | |
| And come from some minuter star | |
| To treat us with his pearl guitar. | |
| |
| Hark! It scarcely ends the strain, | |
| But it gives it o’er again, | 10 |
| Lovely thing!—and runs along | |
| Just as if it knew the song, | |
| Touching out, smooth, clear and small, | |
| Harmony, and shake, and all; | |
| Now upon the treble lingering, | 15 |
| Dancing now as if ’twere fingering, | |
| And at last upon the close | |
| Coming with serene repose. | |
| |
| O full of sweetness, crispness, ease, | |
| Compound of lovely smallnesses, | 20 |
| Accomplished trifle,—tell us what | |
| To call thee, and disgrace thee not! | |
| Worlds of fancies come about us, | |
| Thrill within, and glance without us. | |
| Now we think that there must be | 25 |
| In thee some humanity, | |
| Such a taste composed and fine | |
| Smiles along that touch of thine. | |
| Now we call thee heavenly rain, | |
| For thy fresh continued strain; | 30 |
| Now a hail that on the ground | |
| Splits into light leaps of sound; | |
| Now the concert, neat and nice, | |
| Of a pygmy paradise; | |
| Sprinkles then from singing fountains; | 35 |
| Fairies heard on tops of mountains; | |
| Nightingales endued with art, | |
| Caught in listening to Mozart; | |
| Stars that make a distant tinkling, | |
| While their happy eyes are twinkling; | 40 |
| Sounds for scattered rills to flow to; | |
| Music for the flowers to blow to. | |
| |
