Classic Poem

Music inspires me but to think of thee,
For thou art of the music of the world —
A strain of that imperishable voice
That speaks in beauty, harmony, and love.
When Mozart wakes the gladness of my youth
I see perpetual childhood in thy face.
When Chopin, hand in hand with Love, leads on
Through meadowy pleasures to the verge of pain,
How near, how tender is thy beating heart!
And oh, when from the skies Beethoven sounds
His sure, triumphant song, how it vibrates
Deep memories of thy reposeful soul!