Orpheus
Poet:William Shakespeare
ORPHEUS with his lute made trees
And the mountain tops that freeze
Bow themselves when
he did sing:
To his music plants and flowers
Ever sprung; as sun and showers
There had made a
lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads
and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing care and
grief of heart
Fall asleep, or
hearing, die.
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