Oh! tell me the form of the soft summer air,
That tosses so gently the curls of my hair!
It breathes on my lip, and it fans my warm cheek,
Yet gives me no answer, though often I speak.
I feel it play o'er me refreshing and kind,
Yet I cannot touch it- I'm blind! Oh! I'm blind!
Yet I cannot touch it I'm blind! Oh! I'm blind!
And music, what is it? and where does it dwell?
I sink, and I mount with its cadence and swell;
While touch'd to my heart with its deep thrilling strain,
Till pleasure, till pleasure is turning to pain.
What brightness of hue is with music combined?
Will anyone tell me? I'm blind Oh! I'm blind!
Will anyone tell me I'm blind, Oh! I'm blind!
The perfumes of flowers that are hovering nigh
What are they? On what kind of wings do they fly?
Are not they sweet angels who come to delight
A poor little boy, that knows not of sight?
The sun, moon, and stars are to me undefined.
Oh! tell me what light is, I'm blind! Oh! I'm blind!
Dempster, William R., "Blind Boy" (1842). Historic Sheet Music Collection. 708.
The views expressed in this paper are solely those of the author.