Music Michael Tippett

I pant for the music which is divine
My heart in its thirst is a dying flower;
Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine
Loosen the notes in a silver shower;
Like a herbless plain for the gentle rain
I gasp, I faint, till they wake again

Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound
More, O more! I am thirsting yet
It loosens the serpent which care has bound
Upon my heart, to stifle it:
The dissolving strain, through every vein
Passes into my heart and brain