William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Elizabethan Verse. 1907.
MusicWilliam Strode (16021645)
W
Distil soft passions through the heart;
And when at every touch we find
Our pulses beat and bear a part
When threads can make
A heart-string ache,
Philosophy
Can scarce deny
Our souls are made of harmony.
Whate’er the soul affecteth most,
Which only thus we can explain
By music of the heavenly host;
Whose lays we think
Make stars to wink,
Philosophy
Can scarce deny
Our souls consist of harmony.
My senses rock with wonder sweet;
Like snow on wool thy fallings are;
Soft like a spirit’s are thy feet!
Grief who needs fear
That hath an ear?
Down let him lie,
And slumbering die,
And change his soul for harmony.