No command of art, No toil, can help you hear; Earth's minstrelsy falls clear But on the listening heart.
When every room Hath blaz'd with lights and brayed with minstrelsy.william shakespeare
We have winning wiles and witcheries, Such incantations as thy sterner wit Did never dream of. Time hath been ere now That Jove hath listen'd to our minstrelsy. Till wrath would seem to drop out of his soul Like a forgotten thing.
Yet I will look upon thy face again, My own romantic Bronx , and it will be A face more pleasant than the face of men. Thy waves are old companions, I shall see A well remembered form in each old tree And hear a voice long loved in thy wild minstrelsy.
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