To fairy flutes, As the light advances, In square black boots The cabman dances.
What strangely enchanted tunes gush forth during those sleepless nights!
Oh, I think it's definitely spiritual. All music is. I think it's maybe one of the highest forms of spirituality.
The composer...joins Heaven and Earth with threads of sounds.
Like how stars might sound. Or moons But not mountains. Too floaty for mountains. It's a sound like one planet singing to another, high stretched and full of different voices starting at different notes and sloping down to other different notes but all weaving together in a rope of sound that's sad but not sad and slow but not slow and all singing one word. One word.
From barren brown stems to glistening leaf-buds; from the leaf-buds to snowy virginity of bloom…It was like a flute song forgotten in another existence and remembered again. What? How? Why? This singing she heard that had nothing to do with her ears. The rose of the world was breathing out smell. It followed her through all her waking moments and caressed her in her sleep.
Elvish singing is not a thing to miss, in June under the stars, not if you care for such things.
God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they too have a voice, you piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
