Various, Littell's Living Age (1875)
“ Playing the while our little children sing: The world is full of music — not for me! I dreamed last night of some dim abbey choir: The lights were burning where the singers stood Chanting my anthem. I crouched in the dark, Weeping for joy to hear they called it good! O music of my sleep, that mocks my soul With cruel joys that are fulfilled no more Than his who dreams of light and love at home. ”
