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 on the tuned frame of strings Plucked or silenced under the hand Whimper lightly to the ear, Delicate and involute, Like the mockery in a shell. Lest the brain forget the thunder The roused heart once made it hear,— Rising as that clamor fell,— Let there sound from music's root One note rage can understand, A fine noise of riven things. Build there some thick chord of wonder; Then, for every passion's sake, Beat upon it till it break. [ 4 ]