Poems (Follen)/To my Æolian Harp
TO MY ÆOLIAN HARP,
AS IT WAS PLAYING ON A COLD STORMY DAY.
Say, was it, my harp, the invisible wing Of a spirit that passed o'er thy musical string? And comes it in love, with its light, airy hand, To play me a song from the heavenly land?
Though chill is the wind, and fitful it blows,Yet sweet as in summer thy music still flows; But, when rages the blast, and contending winds roar,In silence you wait till the tempest is o'er.
And thus, like thy strings, is the virtuous mind,—Harmonious e'en in adversity's wind; But, when by the tempests of life it is driven,It remembers, in silence, the storm is from Heaven.