Lover of Music to his Pianoforte

Oh friend, whom glad or grave we seek, 
Heaven-holding shrine! 
I ope thee, touch thee, hear thee speak, 
And peace is mine. 
No fairy casket full of bliss,
Out-values thee: 
Love only, wakened with a kiss, 
More sweet may be.

To thee, when our full hearts o'erflow
In griefs or joys,
Unspeakable emotions owe
A fitting voice: 
Mirth flies to thee, and Love's unrest,
And Memory dear. 
And Sorrow, with his tightened breast,
Comes for a tear.

Oh since few joys of human mould
Thus wait us still, 
Thrice blessed be thine, thou gentle fold
Of peace at will. 
No change, no sullenness, no cheat,
In thee we find; 
Thy saddest voice is ever sweet, —
Thine answer, kind.