Classic Poem

There should be inspiration still in Art;
Raising the artist's toil, and sweetening it.
These ponderous labours yield me no delight.
I am not learn'd in Music; yet I know
That the Art whose skill must mean to move the soul,
And echo Nature, should be true to it.
Now Nature's voice is not like this vast strain,
Monotonously grand: Some sounds there are
In dignity below the thunder; some
Tender as Love; some gay as bridal thoughts;
Some stern as justice; others, more serene,
Which (mute by day) awake when Evening wakes,
And soothe the setting sun with harmony.