human
But no, she answers,
gpt
I am she Whom the gods love, Tranquillity; That other whom you seek forlorn. Half-earthly was; but I am born Of the immortals, and our race Have still some sadness in our face: He wins me late, but keeps me long, Who, dowered with every gift of passion, In that fierce flame can forge and fashion Of sin and self the anchor strong; Can thence compel the driving force Of daily life's mechanic course, Nor less the nobler energies Of needful toil and culture wise: Whose soul is worth the tempter's lure, Who can renounce and yet endure, To him I come, not lightly wooed, And won by silent fortitude.
human
When some belovèd voice that was to you Both sound and sweetness faileth suddenly, And silence, against which you dare not cry, Aches round you like a strong disease and new,-- What hope? what help? what music will undo That silence to your sense? Not friendship's sigh,-- Not reason's subtle count,--not melody Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew,-- Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales, Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress-trees To the clear moon,--nor yet the spheric laws Self-chanted,--nor the angels' sweet All-hails, Met in the smile of God. Nay, none of these! Speak THOU, availing Christ, and fill this pause!