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Friedrich Schiller - To Laura At The Harpsichord
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When o`er the chords thy fingers stray,
My spirit leaves its mortal clay,
  A statue there I stand;
Thy spell controls e`en life and death,
As when the nerves a living breath
  Receive by Love`s command! [1]

More gently zephyr sighs along
To listen to thy magic song;
The systems formed by heavenly love
To sing forever as they move,
Pause in their endless-whirling round
To catch the rapture-teeming sound;
`Tis for thy strains they worship thee,—
Thy look, enchantress, fetters me!

From yonder chords fast-thronging come
  Soul-breathing notes with rapturous speed,
As when from out their heavenly home
  The new-born seraphim proceed;
The strains pour forth their magic might,
As glittering suns burst through the night,
When, by Creation`s storm awoke,
From chaos` giant-arm they broke.

  Now sweet, as when the silv`ry wave
  Delights the pebbly beach to lave;
  And now majestic as the sound
  Of rolling thunder gathering round;
Now pealing more loudly, as when from yon height
Descends the mad mountain-stream, foaming and bright;
 Now in a song of love
   Dying away,
 As through the aspen grove
   Soft zephyrs play:
Now heavier and more mournful seems the strain,
As when across the desert, death-like plain,
Whence whispers dread and yells despairing rise,
Cocytus` sluggish, wailing current sighs.

  Maiden fair, oh, answer me!
  Are not spirits leagued with thee?
  Speak they in the realms of bliss
  Other language e`er than this?
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