Life's lairnin, like a fauch muisician, haulds
A dulcimer o tholin in his haund,
Frae whaur sweet soonds we canna unnerstaund,
O God; will in his warlds, the souch unfaulds
In dowf-throuither minors: daithly caulds
Dings doun on's while we hear, tae contermaund
The hert bluid-biggen back frae Faerielonde
Wi philomenes in spaewark's orra warlds.
We murmle 'Whaur is ony siccar tuin
Or meisurt muisic in sic notes as thir?'
But angels, hingin frae the gowden seat,
Wants aw conceit that thair fine hearin's won
The conter-crack o feenisht cadences,
An, smuein doun the starns, thay whisper - SWEET.
Elizabeth Barret Browning (1806-61)
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