THERE are who buskin’d stalk, whose whine or rave
Might sleeping Nature wake from out her grave;
There are, Thalia! who thy art profess,
Yet mirth still ever deck in folly’s dress.
From these we turn to one whose magic art
Can raise each passion of the feeling heart;
Who with a skill’d musician’s master hand
Can tune each string at Harmony’s command;
So touch on sorrow, with a strain so deep,
We only breathe to sigh! and hear, to weep!
Yet change the key, ’tis rapture! ’tis delight,
‘Tis passion elegant, and gay and light;
All that can charm the soul, or please the sight.
(Mrs. Walter Spencer)
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Based on Topics: Light Poems, Sadness Poems, Soul Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Art Poems, Emotions Poems, Stupidity Poems, Harmony PoemsBased on Keywords: buskin