With all the sweet fancies that hung round that time, Life's burdens and troubles turn into air-bubbles And break on the music's swift current of rhyme. Fair Folly comes back with her spell while you listen, And points to the paths where she led you of old. You gaze on past sunsets, you see dead stars glisten, You bathe in life's glory, you swoon in death's cold. All pains and all pleasures surge up through those measures, Your heart is wrenched open with earthquakes of sound. From ashes and embers rise Junes and Decembers, Lost Islands in fathoms of feeling refound.
Some airs are like outlets of memory's oceans, They rise in the past and flow into the heart.