passionate heart-chants, sorrowful appeals, The measureless sweet vocalists of ages, And for their solvent setting earth’s own diapason, Of winds and woods and mighty ocean waves, A new composite orchestra, binder of years and climes, ten-fold renewer, As of the far-back days the poets tell, the Paradiso, The straying thence, the separation long, but now the wandering done, The journey done, the journeyman come home, And man and art with Nature fused again.
Tutti! for earth and heaven; (The Almighty leader now for once has signal’d with his wand.)
The manly strophe of the husbands of the world, And all the wives responding.
The tongues of violins, (I think O tongues ye tell this heart, that cannot tell itself, This brooding yearning heart, that cannot tell itself.)