Excerpt from Words for Music: A Symphonic Series

Dear thought, I sue thee for desired relief!
Even too long thou chantest in mine ear,
I would be free another tune to hear,
Behold, I write thee on this withered leaf.

Forgive the art, that partial, hath designed
In black and white, thine act, thy glance alone,
And forfeited the soul of breathing tone,
Go seek thy life, and haply shalt thou find.

A pilgrim rove with fates and airs begin!
I fortune waft thee in a loiterer's way,
Who pondereth upon the legend, say:
"I who am no man's, fain I would be thine."

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