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(Must come, I wish it so!)
To coax these stagnant strings,
Kindle their numb
And awful apathy with one imperative blow
Of the fleet accurate bow;
Release the fiddle-cry.

O faithless—
Faithful only to sound,
(That loud-lipped passer-by),
You will forget straightway
The player for the player;
And both for the tune you play!

In time I too shall turn
To others' music,
Shall learn
A niggardly delight
In some slight
Lord of nimble fingers
Tossing me sops of song;
The long
And measured wisdom of wide symphonies
Will find me listening;
A singer, a child's hand on the candid keys,
A whistle on the wing:
All these!

I'll not disdain the fine
And effervescent draught,
Filling the echoing cup

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