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 The bridal rapture of the blowing valleys, The lyric pageant of the passing year, The sounding odes and surging harmonies Of battling tempests and unconquered seas?

Yea, you may smite my mouth to throbbing silence, Pluck from my lips power of articulate words. . . Say, shall my heart lack its familiar language While earth has nests for her mellifluous birds? Shall my impassioned heart forget to sing With the ten thousand voices of the spring?

Yea, you may quell my blood with sudden anguish, Fetter my limbs with some compelling pain. . . How will you daunt my free, far-journeying fancy That rides upon the pinions of the rain? How will you tether my triumphant mind, Rival and fearless comrade of the wind? 93