Many love music but for music's sake, Many because her touches can awake Thoughts that repose within the breast half-dead, And rise to follow where she loves to lead. What various feelings come from days gone by! What tears from far-off sources dim the eye! Few, when light fingers with sweet voices play, And melodies swell, pause, and melt away, Mind how at every touch, at every tone, A spark of life hath glistened and hath gone.
Walter Savage LandorWe are poor, indeed, when we have no half-wishes left us. The heart and the imagination close the shutters the instant they are gone.
Walter Savage LandorThere are proud men of so much delicacy that it almost conceals their pride, and perfectly excuses it.
Walter Savage Landor