There’s music in the sighing of a reed; There’s music in the gushing of a rill; There’s music in all things, if men had ears: Their Earth is but an e… - Lord Byron

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.

Nothing so difficult as a beginning
In poesy, unless perhaps the end;
For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning
The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend,
Like Lucifer when hurled from Heaven for sinning;
Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend,
Being Pride, which leads the mind to soar too far,
Till our own weakness shows us what we are.

But Time, which brings all beings to their level,
And sharp Adversity, will teach at last
Man, — and, as we would hope, — perhaps the Devil,
That neither of their intellects are vast:
While Youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel,
We know not this — the blood flows on too fast;
But as the torrent widens towards the Ocean,
We ponder deeply on each past emotion.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl- songs or the midnight blast,
Is that portentous phrase, “I told you so,”
Utter’d by friends, those prophets of the past,
Who, ’stead of saying what you now should do,
Own they foresaw that you would fall at last,
And solace your slight lapse ’gainst “bonos mores,”
With a long memorandum of old stories.