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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=118538" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Israphel</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=118538" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A dreamer midst the stars doth dwell,<br>Known to the gods as Israphel.<br>His heart-strings are a lute;<br>And when, the magic notes outpouring,<br>He parts his lips, the gods, adoring,<br>Listen in transport mute,<br>Subdued and softened by the spell<br>Of the dreamer, Israphel!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=118538" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And mortals, when they hear him, start,<br>And, full of wonder, call him—Art,<br>And, fain his gift to gain,<br>Essay to imitate the fashion<br>Of his rare song, and breathe its passion,—<br>But, ah, they strive in vain;<br>For his song is more than art,<br>Whose lute-strings are his heart!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=118538" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And others, unto whom he wings<br>The sweetest melodies he sings,<br>In worship, name him—Love;<br>Yet longing the pure strain to capture,<br>When at the very height of rapture,<br>A sadness oft approve,<br>And fancy, strangely, that he wrings<br>The music from their own heart-strings!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Florence+Earle+Coates">Florence Earle Coates</a></strong> from <em><a href="http://sources.citatepedia.com/from.php?a=Florence+Earle+Coates&d=Poems">Poems</a></em></div>

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