Tones that sound, and roar and storm about me until I have set them down in notes.

Tones sound, and roar and storm about me until I have set them down in notes.

The sound is forced, the notes are few!

What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? Speak, speak!

I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the saying is true, 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.'

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our teeples, drowned the cocks!
You sulphurour and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's molds, all germens spill at once
That make ingrateful man!